A wand? A Hawthorn wand?
A week had passed since the incident in Potions, and since then classes had been… less than adequate. What Harry expected to be a smooth-sailing year had turned out to be a blown up cauldron in Potions, a wardrobe transfigured into a bed (with the doors where the mattress was supposed to be), and to top it all off, he was attacking his classmates too hard n Defence Against the Dark Arts.
“Very good everyone. Now, may the students on the left hand side of the room take five steps to the right to be placed with a new partner,” Their new Defence Professor instructed.
Harry looked ahead of him, his wand parallel his face. When the activity began, Harry had been momentarily thrown back to Year Two Dueling club. He heard the commotion of the students shifting around to their new partners. Both people within their respective pairs had their backs to each other. Their professor had claimed it would be more fair, since the attacker and defender wouldn’t initially know their partner's strength; much more applicable to life beyond Hogwarts.
“On the count of three; one, two, three!”
Harry turned sharply. His magic thrummed in his veins, it permeated the air around him. The taste of something metallic settled in the roof of his mouth, pungent and strong. Before he knew it, a wand was flying into his hand, his grip tight around it. He looked down. He didn’t even remember uttering the incantation of Expelliarmus, and yet there it was. The wood was smooth, clean, and hardly touched. The magic that coiled itself around it was dull, as though unused by its owner. It was foreign, in both touch and feeling. Harry had been able to ascertain and recognise his past duelling partners wands, everyone had their own significant magical signature. This was like holding… nothing. He looked up, confused, only to stare at a pair of wide pale eyes, and a hanging jaw. Harry looked back down. This wasn’t a Hawthorn wand, it was a Ministry issued wand.
Malfoy’s Protego dissipated, though it had hardly formed in the first place. Harry dropped the wand as though it burned him, to which Malfoy Accio’d it back to his person.
“Impeccable spell casting Mr Potter, however, I implore that you work on regulating the strength and aura of your magic. Too much exertion at high level casting will definitely cause a depletion of your magical stores, and thus lead to exhaustion.” The Professor, who made it mandatory for all students to call them Gael, instructed.
Harry flinched at the sudden appearance. What was it with Professors and sneaking up on students?
“Mr Malfoy, I’d suggest some extra practice in quickening your protective and defensive spell casting. Although you are undoubtedly quick as it is, to be able to be prepared for anything, fast casting is best to prevent regret later on.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Bloody hell, I knew my son was good, I didn’t know he was Good!’
‘James, dear, that is the same word.’
‘Yes Petal, but the emphasis was different.’
‘Harry definitely seems to have only grown stronger over the years, I’m so proud.’
‘Sirius, he’s not your son.’
‘I know that! Jeez, can a man not be proud of his Godchild, Merlin’s tits Moony.’
‘Quit moping, all of you, you’re going to miss the one interaction we’re all here to see.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry watched as Malfoy composed himself. His jaw shut tight, and the wide pale eyes were hidden as he took deep breaths. Harry couldn’t make out the conundrum that was Draco Malfoy. Before, the other teen would rather be seen dead than show even a morsel of emotion towards anything Harry would do, in any regards. Now, it seemed as though Malfoy didn’t have control over any of his reactions.
His pale hair, which was previously in a loose bun at the beginning of the class, now had strands falling limp down his face, framing his jaw, as well as some fly-aways sticking up; as though he’d been shocked.
Harry sniffed and rubbed at his nose with the back of his palm, his other hand turning his wand in a fidgety fashion. “You, uh… Hawthorn?” Eloquent.
Malfoy looked back at him, after having regained his composure. He looked at Harry as though Harry had gone mad. Maybe he had.
Why Harry thought to initiate a conversation whilst waiting for their other classmates to finish sparing was beyond even Harry himself.
“What?” Malfoy responded. To give him some credit, Harry’s initial question hadn’t made much sense.
“Your wand… Why, uh, why not your Hawthorn one.” He asked again.
Malfoy raised a delicate brow. “Not that it’s any of your business, Potter,” He sneered, “but Ministry regulations and all that if I’m to complete this year. What with being a former Death Eater and all.” He responded, nonchalantly.
Harry rolled his eyes and rubbed his nose once again, “Sorry for trying to make polite conversation.”
“Well don’t.” Malfoy interjected, voice clipped, and tone cold. “It’s best we stay our separate ways this year.”
Before Harry could respond; to ask why, and what made that the best possible choice; His body had started to turn on its own as their new Professor instructed the students on the left to change partners.
After class, Harry found himself sitting beside Ron and Hermione in the library. They had decided during their free periods to get a head start on the homework set by their teachers - much to the delight of Hermione. She currently had her head down and nose inches from a textbook whilst Ron tried sneaking glances at her potions essay. Harry had attempted to make a start. Truely, he did! Unfortunately, he had only gotten an introduction finished before his mind started to wonder.
He couldn’t help but think back to Defence class. Their new professor was indeed talented and knew what they were doing. That wasn’t what had Harry’s mind in a tizzy. Instead, he was thinking back to the feeling of the wand that had flown into his hand.
Harry hadn’t been there at Malfoy's trial, but he had submitted a letter to Wizengamot supplying witness information regarding Narcissa saving his life. All he knew of the outcome was what he read in the Daily Prophet, and even then he couldn’t be sure as to how much was exaggerated and how much of it was true. Apparently Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to the designated life-sentence in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, with direct affiliation to, and the harbouring of, Voldemort. Narcissa Malfoy had been proven to have saved Harry’s life which had drastically reduced her sentence. According to the news report, she had to serve ten years under house arrest at the Manor with monthly check-ins at St. Mungos.
All that was covered regarding Draco’s trial was that he had been allowed to return to Hogwarts for Eighth Year. There had been little mention about any sentencing, how he got away scot-free, or anything at all about a Ministry Issued wand.
The author of the article had added a snide comment about how the Malfoy family, despite their reputation being tarnished, still had a gargantuan amount of money to their name. They hinted at the possibility of his father having bribed the Ministry into letting Draco free. But that couldn’t have been the case; what with the very public knowledge that the Malfoy vault had been seized and frozen due to criminal conviction.
Harry felt a hard kick under the table that jolted him into sitting straight in his chair.
“Harry, I've been calling your name for a whole minute! Honestly, what’s gotten you so spaced out?” Hermoine asked, whilst Ron shot him an apologetic smile. Apparently they had worked as a team to bring Harry back down to earth.
“Hmm? Sorry ‘Mione, spaced out.” Harry pushed his parchment and quill, which had caused an ink blot on his paper, to the side. “What were you saying?”
“I was saying we should pack up soon, it’s almost dinner time.”
Harry made a noise of agreement, and started to help the other two pack away and place books back on the right shelves.
“Do you think the elves have made the beef wellingtons again? God those were good.” Harry heard Ron ask whilst he helped Hermione clear away the last remnants of her homework.
“Maybe, but do try and have some greens with it this time Ronald.” She replied.
Harry could’ve gotten lost in their soft conversation. Their voices were low so as to not alert Madam Pince, but their words were warm and full of love. It felt like a blanket wrapping around Harry’s shoulders, a safe place to go and call home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘God, beef wellingtons. I’ll tell ya, that Ronald guy is a right foodie, and his taste is impeccable!’
‘I remember when you’d wolf those down in the Great Hall.’
‘Yes, many of us thought it uncouth.’
‘You’re uncouth Regulus.’
‘Tell that to Mother, and she’d have other ideas.’
‘Well, it’s a damn good thing she’s not here, isn’t it?’
‘Your sibling squabble interrupted my fantasy of food, hush!’
‘Sorry Prongs…’
‘Sorry James…’
‘God I miss food…’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There had not been beef wellingtons at dinner that night, much to Ron’s disappointment, but the food was no less impressive and fulfilling.
A flood of students staggered back to their dorms with arms around their bloated stomachs with groans and sighs of satisfaction. Ron among them. Hermione berated him for eating both too much and far too quickly.
Harry walked in content silence behind them, watching the other students say goodnight to their friends and split off to their house’s common rooms. He couldn’t help but see that there were very few Slytherins intermingling, most of them deciding to stick to their own housemates. Some things never change.
“Pansy…” Harry heard a hushed voice behind him. He couldn’t stop but glance over his shoulder briefly.
“Mmm?” Parkinson replied, half listening, half checking her nails in case any dirt got under them during dinner.
“Balance me.” Came a softly spoken, yet slightly panicked, demand.
Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Apparently even after the war Malfoy was an insufferable and demanding person. But something made him slow his walking. Call it intrigue, call it stupidity, but something about Malfoy’s voice did not sound like his usual snobbishness.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Parkinson reached out with her elbow and nudged Malfoy, pushing him gently. Malfoy’s lip, previously trapped between his teeth, was released whilst his eyebrows smoothed over. It seemed like second nature between the two Slytherins. As though such an act was common between the two. Maybe it was a pureblood thing?
Whatever it was, Harry doubted he would ever be able to wrap his head around the Slytherins.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Is Harry like, dumb? Like, is he legitimately dumb? James and Lily, did you raise a dumb kid? I can see him getting it from James, but Lily, darling, come on.’
‘Actually, Sirius, we didn’t raise him at all.’
‘Thanks ever so much for reminding us.’
‘No but like, that is not a pureblood thing. How could he think that is a pureblood thing?’
‘I don’t think you can blame him too hard Sirius, mother sheltered us from many a muggle thing growing up. I know first hand the shock you got when Lupin or Evans told you something you believed was not, in fact, a muggle thing.’
‘Oh shush it know-it-all.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The walk back to the common room was long. And by the time they all collectively walked through the portrait and into the common room, very few had much energy to actually say heart-felt goodnights.
The first week back had been draining. The return to Hogwarts and the full thrust into school weeks left many in a zombie-like state by Friday. Classes were tough on them, preparing them and cramming as much knowledge as they could into their brains, and even during free-periods the Eighth Years were stuck studying in the library or outside.
After changing sluggishly into his pyjamas and tucking himself under the blankets, Harry felt his mind wandering back to earlier that day. There were many things he couldn’t wrap his head around. The wand, the weird pureblood ‘balancing’ thing, and the comment about them not interacting being the best for the two of them. So many things confused him. Draco Malfoy was a confusing man. He had always been to Harry. Malfoy was this plethora of emotions and skewed moral compass, his rigid and unstraying ways in order to maintain his reputation. That was all gone this year. Just what exactly happened during the Summer holidays?
It wasn’t long until the feeling of sinking down onto the bed after such a warm dinner made Harry fall into a costamos sleep. His ponderings could wait for another day, the school year had only just started, and so far, not one thing had tried to kill him.
Harry thought that was definitely a win for him.