Self regulation? Whats that?
The Great Hall was decorated for the Holidays, Harry noticed with delight.
The war had only ended just before the summer, finalized by the historic Battle of Hogwarts. Now, three months later, Headmistress McGonagall had reopened the doors to Hogwarts, and extended a special invitation to the recently ‘graduated’ seventh years to return and redo their final year of schooling. With the war going on- and Death Eaters running the school- nobody in Harry’s year had really received a NEWT worthy education.
The announcement that the School for Witchcraft and Wizardry would be open so soon came as a shock to much of magical society. After all, the Battle of Hogwarts had taken a large toll on the castle. Large archways had cracked and fallen, pillars and beams had gone lopsided, and scorch marks covered every wall. The gore was the hardest part to clean, curses and hexes splattering blood onto nearly every tangible surface.
Nevertheless, Headmistress McGonagall had pieced together a large group of volunteers who had resided on both sides of the war and had instructed them (sternly) to restore the castle.
Throughout the many and tedious post-war trials, several Voldemort sympathizers were assigned community service in place of time in Azkaban (because Azkaban can only house so many criminals), thus landing them in the expansive halls of Hogwarts, meticulously piecing together the parts of the broken castle.
Of course, Harry, Hermione, and nearly every sane and able Weasley and Longbottom and Lovegood had insisted on helping. McGonagall had been reluctant to accept their servitude.
“You have all already done so much,” said McGonagall sternly. She would purse her lips and readjust her eyeglasses. A thin line creased between her brows.
“Surely, after such a hard year, you all deserve a summer of rest,” she insisted. Nobody budged, and McGonagall ended up tentatively agreeing to their help.
Most surprisingly, the surviving Malfoy’s came to volunteer as well. Very few days had passed after Voldemort had taken his final breath before the family pledged their efforts to post-war cleanup.
The Malfoy’s always knew when and how to make a good political statement.
Draco and Narcissa seemed genuine in their efforts, but Harry suspected that Lucius was only trying to regain his family’s esteemed reputation. His servitude combined with his still unwavering wealth had made it difficult for the Wizengamot courts to make any charges against him and his family stick. Figures, Harry thought glumly.
And so, every witch and wizard in Harry's class (who was still alive) had decided to come back to Hogwarts. Even the Slytherins had decided to return, which wasn’t as big of a shock as it should have been. Harry supposed that they didn’t get much of an education last year either.
Among those returning Slytherins was Draco Malfoy, a fact that left an uneasy feeling in Harry Potter’s stomach. Harry wasn’t big into interhouse discrimination anymore, deciding that he was above such matters, considering that Gryffindor vs. Slytherin was nothing compared to the death and trauma he had endured in the last year.
So it wasn’t the fact that Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin that had bothered him, nor was it because he used to be a Death Eater. Malfoy had redeemed himself towards the end of the War, even saving Harry’s life on occasion, so Harry really had no reason to harbor any negative feelings for him.
Harry still remembered Malfoy looking into his trademark green eyes, gaze flickering up to his mangled scar that surely he could not believe to belong to anybody but Harry, and declaring that he “couldn’t truly tell” if the boy was Harry Potter or not.
Even so, Malfoy’s presence weighed on Harry like a ton of bricks. In potions class, Harry was entirely tormented by him. He sat right in front of him, partnered with Pansy Parkinson. He had barely spoken to Harry since the year began. Still, the mere fact that he was so close got Harry all upset, a marvel considering how cold the dungeons are. Harry’s vision swam and palms shook during every class, making concentrating especially difficult.
Harry had been so bothered that on one particular day he had been ready to drop dried bat clippings, rather than pickled, into his draught for liver repair. Such a mix up would have transformed the draught into an entirely corrosive liquid, which would have promptly exploded. The explosion would have blown anybody within a twelve foot range against, and likely through, the wall.
The near fatal accident was only avoided when Draco Malfoy noticed Harry about to dump the shavings into his potion.
He had caught the mistake whilst turning to read the instructions on the backboard. Malfoy’s eyes had widened, and he shot towards Harry, abruptly snatching the clippings out of his hand.
Malfoy sneered, an expression entirely reserved for Harry, and said, “Are you trying to get us all killed, Potter?” He dumped the shavings back on Harry's table and handed him the correct ones, “Or are you simply so stupid that you would make a mistake such as that?”
When Harry didn’t respond, Malfoy stalked away with a final look to make sure Harry did, in fact, have the right clippings this time.
Harry shook even harder at that, because Malfoy had accidentally brushed his hand whilst snatching away the pieces of bat, and now he was even hotter and unbridled. His blood pulsed, thrumming in his ears like an archaic drum.
Harry walked out of the dungeons without warning Professor Slughorn. Nobody looked his way as he left, nor did they care. They were far too used to Harry’s melodrama to even be phased anymore.
Cracks in the stone floor widened as he passed over them. He was shivering and something in his chest swam and pushed at his ribcage and demanded to be shown release.
Harry wanted to turn around and grab Draco Malfoy and- well, the fantasy ended there, because it was more of an impulse than a fantasy, really. All Harry knew was that his magic hummed in glee and rage and a bunch of other contradictory emotions whenever Draco Malfoy was near.
Harry sprinted to the Forbidden Forest and fell to his knees. The ground was rumbling. Alone in the trees, Harry Potter was a horrible sight. If somebody had chanced upon him then, they would have fled, because in those moments, Harry Potter was unrecognizable. He was just a lump of overbearing power. Even the flora seemed to inch away from him.
Luckily, Harry had remained alone.
After that, Harry had been determined to avoid Malfoy as thoroughly as he could. He begged Professor Slughorn to move his seat. He occupied the far side of the quidditch pitch whenever the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams had to share the space.
When he walked into the shared eighth-year common room and had seen Malfoy reading before the fire, legs curled underneath himself and looking entirely too human, he backed out of the living space and resigned himself to stay at Hagrid’s for the night.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Harry?” said Luna from behind his left shoulder. They were both at the entrance of the hall, and Harry jumped and craned his neck to look at her. Wordlessly, she pointed up at the ceiling of the Great Hall, which was spelled to look like a blizzard. The rest of the hall resembled a coniferous forest.
A small smile played on Harry’s lips. Holiday’s at Hogwarts will forever make him feel warm.
“Yeah. Bit different from the way they used to do it, though,” Harry said, making a gesture around the room, “Usually they just spell the ceiling.” Luna hummed quietly.
“I like it better this way,” she said, and twirled away from him. She walked airily, like she was part nymph. Her hair bounced and skirts poofed as she sat at the Gryffindor table next to Neville. Nobody cared much for separating the different houses at mealtimes anymore. In fact, intermingling was encouraged.
Harry followed her to the table.
“Harry!” said Hermione as he sat, pushing a bowl of porridge towards him. She sat across from him, and Ron had an arm around her shoulder. “Eat!” demanded Hermione, and Harry rolled his eyes. She’d never forget seeing Harry come back to Hogwarts looking emaciated and close to withering away after every summer he spent with the Dursleys.
He grabbed the bowl of porridge and began to eat.
“So, have you heard about Potions class yet?” asked Ron, pausing his chewing for long enough to get a few words in.
“Heard what about it?” said Harry between bites of food. Strawberry and banana porridge, Harry mused to himself. It should really just be called banana pudding. Banana completely overpowers the strawberry taste.
Hermione winced in distaste at his manners. “The actual seventh years are saying that Professor Slughorn gave them a new project yesterday,” she began, but Ron interrupted.
“Yeah, and guess what! We’re being given the same ruddy project as them,” said Ron with a wince, “We have to create a new potion for whatever topic he gives us, with somebody from another house as our partner, which means, you know- we have to be partners with one of the Slytherin’s,” Ron finished with a loud huff, and Harry’s stomach dropped. Hermione looked pained.
“I mean, I don’t have any issue with the younger Slytherins. It's just the ones in our year,” She bit her lip nervously, “We just have so much history with them,”.
Harry knows what she means. The younger Slytherins could actually be quite pleasant- in fact, Harry would even go as far to say that the majority of the Slytherin’s in his year weren’t too bad either. For example, Theodore Nott. To Harry’s knowledge, he had stayed out of the war. He had always minded his business during their earlier years at Hogwarts, never partaking in Harry’s harassment or torment. Harry wouldn’t mind being paired up with him.
Harry didn’t know what he would do if he was paired with Draco Malfoy. His blood pulsed just thinking about it. His ears were already drumming, a sickening bum bum bum that could drive him to insanity if left unchecked. He shook his leg under the table. If he wasn’t careful, he’d set the entire hall on fire. Harry wondered what the taiga would look like up in flames.
After dying the second time, Harry felt different. He had always been prone to anger, a characteristic he had attributed to his fiery haired mother.
He would silently rage as Professor Snape would deduct unnecessary house points from Gryffindor. He’d throw trinkets at his walls on Privet Drive after the Dursley’s would refuse to let him leave the house. He’d kick the ceiling of his cupboard under the stairs when he was locked in there for days at a time, when they’d forget to feed him. He had been ready to kill Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack, only opting otherwise because he relished in the fact that a far more terrible fate rested for him in the hands of Dementors.
Even in his anger, Harry had rarely ever let his magic go unchecked. Accidental bouts of magic were infrequent, considering that Harry was well above the age of having little-to-no control over his power.
Everything had changed once Harry died for the second time. It was as if being a horcrux had stolen a part of his power, dampening the true extent of his magical core.
After waking up from death, Harry felt it immediately. His magical core felt as if it transformed from being a pool to an ever expanding ocean. It made defeating Voldemort all the more easier. They were equals, the two most powerful wizards alive, and Harry had years of built up magic to expend.
Despite what everyone says, Harry was not merciful in the end. If Voldemort had surrendered, he still would have killed him. He was so angry, then. It pulsed in his veins and pounded at his ribcage. Voldemort wasn’t coming out of Hogwarts alive.
“I just hope I don’t get paired with Malfoy,” said Harry, wiping a hand across his tired eyes. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. He rarely got much rest without a dreamless sleep potion, with all the power drumming beneath his skin. It was a stimulant. It wanted to be used, to consume.
Ron hummed enthusiastically in agreement. “I’d off myself if I got stuck with him,” he groaned, plopping his head down on the table. Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious. I think I’d jump off the astronomy tower.”
Harry snorted.
“Maybe you could let the Whomping Willow have a go at you after,” Harry suggested, and Ron nodded in agreement.
“Boys,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the tea kettle. “We have to go. We have a long day of classes ahead, and you know how Professor Trout is about tardiness,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and raising her pitch to match their Professor’s, “Twenty minutes early is on time, and if you’re on time, you’re already late!”
Both Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, but decided to follow her out of the Great Hall.
~
“Pass me my wand, will you?” said Ron, stretching his legs and arms out into a sort of starfish pose on the balcony floor. Harry tossed it to him, and Ron flailed whilst trying to catch it. The wand rolled to the other side of the floor. “Bugger,” Ron mumbled, plopping back down on the ground.
“Merlin knows how you manage to stay our keeper,” said Harry, playfully nudging Ron with his foot from his spot against the railing. Ron scowled and kicked back. Harry laughed.
Harry found the balcony at the beginning of eighth year. He had been attempting to not blow up the entire school, or turn the castle floors into water, or light Professor Slughorn on fire for seating Draco Malfoy so fucking close to him in potions. He wandered the castle, then, needing an escape from everybody and everything. What he really wanted was a break from himself, but seeing as he couldn’t have that, he settled for the next best thing: solitude.
So, as Harry was wandering aimlessly (frantically) about the highest floor, the one right below the highest towers on the grounds, he found the balcony. It jutted out from beneath his feet, seeming to grow as Harry walked over it. The railings had stretched wider, stones multiplying. Harry thought that it must’ve been a large windowsill before he was there.
The balcony overlooked the Forbidden Forest and the mountains peeking out from behind the treeline. The lake could be seen just to the right. Hagrid’s hut billowed out steam from below. It was beautiful, and Harry had decided to come back.
When Harry didn’t want to be alone, he would bring Ron with him. They would gossip and do transfiguration essays. When it was just the two of them on the balcony, it felt similar to how things used to be, when they were young and didn’t have to think about genocide and horcruxes. Their minds were occupied by quidditch matches, trips to Hogsmeade, and the upcoming holidays. Now, Ron is one brother short and Harry has a drumming under his skin, but when it was just the two of them on the balcony, none of that mattered.
Ron rolled onto his side and dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the ground. His red hair looked burgundy in the night, and his cheeks were flushed because of the cold. His nose had a faint pinkish hue. “Do you think Hermione might let us copy her charms essay?” he asked, groaning at his own paper with less than half a sentence written on his. Harry shook his head.
“Doubtfully,”.
“Maybe if you ask her she’ll do it,” said Ron, glancing up at Harry, “She takes it better when you ask, cause I think she might feel bad for you a bit,” Harry rolled his eyes, then took out a fag. Ron wrinkled his nose. “Those things are putrid, Harry,”
Harry lit it anyway. It calmed his nerves. Still, he took care to exhale in the opposite direction.
“Why would she feel bad?” Harry diverted, taking a long drag from the cigarette. Ron made a gagging motion, but replied anyway.
“You know. The whole “poor Harry he died twice and had to fight a bad wizard and his parents are dead and now he has to deal with scary new magic that kind-of hates him” thing is what gets her, I think.”
Harry coughed. “That’s stupid.”
“It's true,” he said, shrugging, “So, will you ask her?” Ron looked at him hopefully.
“Maybe,”
“Please? I know you don't have anything written either,” Ron gestured towards Harry’s still blank paper. Harry gave in.
“Fine, even though she’ll still lecture us both,” Harry groaned, laying back, “I guess we’ll need all the extra help we can get now, with the new potions assignment and all,”. Ron winced at his words.
Harry was glad he and Ron were on the same page about potions.
“Mate, I'm telling you, if they stick me with Goyle or Merlin forbids, Malfoy, I really am gonna off myself,” Harry hummed in agreement, “I mean, what am I supposed to do if I have to sit next to them every day until Christmas? Make small talk like- Oh, what are you lot doing for the holidays?, to which they’ll respond, Welcome genocidal dark wizards to live in our homes,” Harry snorted and rolled his eyes at Ron’s dramatics, “It’s mad, Harry!” Ron finished, looking wild and disturbed.
“I hope I get paired with someone half decent, like Theo Nott,” said Harry, praying to whoever was listening.
“Hate to say it, but with your luck, you’ll be stuck with Malfoy,” said Ron. Harry scowled.
“With your luck, you’ll be stuck with Pansy Parkinson,” Harry countered, smirking at Ron’s disgusted expression.
“Then I’d really have to end it all,” declared Ron, “I’d jump right off of this roof,” he gestured towards the two hundred meter drop below them.
“Me and you both,” said Harry, taking a final hit from his cigarette before stomping it out. He was smoking the filter.