Great Power and great responsibilities
“Harry, can I get your autograph?”
“Here, Harry! Look at here!”
“Can I take a photo with you?”
“Wow, he looks so cool!”
“Merlin, I think he winked at me!”
“Nonsense, he was clearly looking at me!”
“Harry, I want a child from you!”
“There is our saviour!”
“Harry, Harry, Harry!”
People were shouting to his left and right as Harry walked up the platform 9 ¾ to enter the Hogwarts Express. He was accompanied by a bunch of Aurors who tried to make a way through the masses, holding the more eager people who tried to touch Harry at bay. During the never-ending flurry of camera flashes, Harry thought to himself that this must be how celebrities felt on the red carpet. While slowly progressing trough the flood of bodies, Harry waved to the immense joy of his “fans”, and grinned.
Normally, Harry hated being the center of attention. He also knew that all those people who were now worshipping the very ground he walked on, had previously loathed him as Undesirable No. 1. People really were ridiculous. But whatever. For once Harry enjoyed the reactions his presence created, the post-war euphoria. After all his hardships he deserved some kind of self-celebration.
Where he previously had to follow others’ opinions (yes, I’m looking at you Dumbledore), he finally was his own master. He was now able to not only make his own decisions but also was sought out for guidance. He would not make use of this power (yet – maybe for the right cause some time later), though having it felt good. It felt … liberating.
Reaching the entrance of the train, Harry spun around to face the crowd. Bowing to the cheers and applause and smiling winningly at the flashing cameras. One last wave of hands and then he ducked into the train, followed closely by Ron and Hermione.
“Merlin, that’s madness outside”, Ron exclaimed enthusiastically, grinning broadly. He clearly had enjoyed the commotion, too.
“Don’t let it get to your head, Ronald”, Hermione huffed in annoyance. Even she wasn’t completely unfazed by the jubilation, though, if her pink cheeks and glowing eyes were anything to go by.
They made their way through the train, looking for an empty compartment. They arrived at the latest time possible, so the train would already harbor all the students, making it easier for the trio to enter.
As it was though, the students curiously peeked out of their compartment doors to catch a glimpse of the war heroes; cheering and chanting praise and thanks.
Gracefully declining the offers to join their compartments and smiling at the students, the three Gryffindors made their way further down the corridor until they found a closed compartment door. Believing it empty – because everyone else had eagerly opened the doors for hero-watching – they slid into the compartment, only to be met with cold gazes and sneers.
The returning Slytherins of their year were huddled together, staring with various emotions at the intruding trio. Zabini was looking calculating, Parkinson looked slightly afraid, Greengrass, Bulstrode, and Nott went for indifference, Goyle seemed torn between glaring menacingly and confused.
“Well, if that isn’t our almighty saviour himself deigning to grace us with his humble presence.” Malfoy drawled from his window-seat he was occupying like a throne he was holding court on.
Harry’s eyes shot to Malfoy’s; meeting the grey glare head on. Malfoy’s mercury eyes were full of disdain.
“Not good enough for Auror-Training? Poor poor Potty.” Malfoy chuckled maliciously. Then he tapped on his chin with one elegant finger, as if in thought. His expression brightened. “Or is the great hero coming back to Hogwarts to bask in the glory of his victory, to recruit more worshipping little cretins? I always knew you loved the attention.” Malfoy taunted. “Do you want us to bow to you, too, Saint Potter?”
Harry gritted his teeth. “You know nothing about me, Malfoy,” he growled.
“Oh, is that right?” Malfoy held his hands up in a placating gesture and smirked. “Well, I know for certain that your looks weren’t affected by your new-found status. Still those baggy clothes and birds’ nest of hair. One would assume you’re a beggar not the ‘hero of wizarding kind’. Finally were adopted by the Weasels, weren’t you?”
“Shut your filthy mouth, ferret face,” Ron spat around Harry.
Hermione placed her hands on both boys’ shoulders and stirred them out of the compartment. “Come on, Ron, Harry. Let’s just go. He’s not worth it.”
“Yes, hide behind the mudblood!” Malfoy called after them.
Ron flushed an angry red, and Harry spun around, ready to hex Malfoy. But Hermione determinedly pushed them both further away from the Slytherins’ compartment, finding an empty one and locking it after shoving the boys inside.
Then she looked at them, tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t want to fight or get in trouble this year. Am I being clear?” She said sternly, managing to sound as strict as McGonagall.
“But Hermione,” Ron protested. “We can’t just let it slide if the ferret is spouting slurs against you!”
“Yes, you can!” Hermione said, wiping her eyes. “I’m tired of fighting. And I’m not angry at Malfoy. I’m just disappointed that we’ve gone through a war and the prejudices and hatred are still there. And if we react to hatred in kind, it’s a never-ending cycle. The only way I see that cycle stop is if we don’t fight each other. Instead, I want to prove them all that muggleborns deserve magic just as much with exceeding in my studies. Maybe I’ll even talk to Malfoy about it.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione continued. “No, Harry, listen. We are adults now. So, we’re handling this maturely. Communication is key. No more fighting!” With that Hermione plopped into a seat, grabbed a book out of her back, and immersed herself in reading.
Ron and Harry glanced at each other before cautiously sitting down, too. Ron, still very angry, pouted and looked out of the window. Harry stared at the wall, trying to gather his thoughts.
The confrontation with Malfoy had left him fuming in silence. The Slytherin’s words echoed in his head. Harry was good enough for Auror-Training. In fact, he had to fight off all the offers and pleads of employment from the Ministry for weeks. His decision to turn them down and return to Hogwarts instead was deliberate. Yes, he liked the for once enthusiastic and positive attention to some extent. But he still wanted to get a job because he earned it with his abilities, not because he was extremely lucky in a war he did not want a leading role in.
Furthermore, Harry wasn’t so sure what to do with himself. He did not know what he was capable of, what he liked to do and what all his possible prospects were. Returning to Hogwarts was a chance to find himself. A chance to explore his interests, abilities, and a chance to relax in the place he felt at home at for the first time.
He should have known that Malfoy would return to Hogwarts, too. It was part of his sentence, after all. But Harry had thought Malfoy would tone it down this year. The blonde was so meagre, his skin sickly grey-ish, dark bags under his eyes when he last saw him at the trial. Harry had pitied him. Harry had spoken up for him. Surely, it was thanks to him that Malfoy didn’t end up in prison.
The ungrateful prat hadn’t even looked Harry in the eye at the end, when he was pardoned. And now, the git was flaunting around like nothing happened. Showing not one bit of remorse. Instead, he behaved like the arrogant git he always has been. Sneering and insulting people left and right. Lording over his fellow classmates as if he hadn’t fallen from grace. Stupid Malfoy, with his pointy, ferrety face, and his stupid perfect hair.
Self-consciously, Harry ran his hands through his own hair, trying to flatten it down. He scowled when his black locks sprang right back into chaos. He did not look bad, did he? Harry had grown a few inches over the summer and filled out his clothes a little more because he picked up running and weight training to lose the pent-up energy he'd had after the war. He wasn’t in constant danger anymore but felt himself vibrating with the urge to do something. He thought, physical activity might do the trick. And it helped him relax with the side benefit of his body getting toned.
Okay, maybe his choice in clothing wasn’t the best. At least he did not wear Dudley’s old clothes anymore. But in baggy t-shirts he felt most comfortable. He nudged his round glasses up his nose. Maybe he should go shopping with Hermione. Get a new wardrobe and new glasses or something. He had the money and finally the time to do normal things. Shopping was normal, right?
He wouldn’t do this because of Malfoy who always was immaculately dressed, of course. He would do it for himself. And for the people looking up to him. He was a role model, after all. He should look like one, too. Yes, with great power comes great responsibility. And while he was at it, he could rub his ability of role-modeling in Malfoy’s face.
Harry nodded to himself. He still needed to somehow discipline Malfoy. He made Hermione cry today. He was still a bigoted prick and would make Harry’s and his friends life hell if he didn’t do something about it. But he had to be sneaky, Harry mused. Hermione wanted them to be mature, after all. That meant, he had to channel his inner Slytherin. Ron would surely help him.
Thinking of the devil, Ron nudged Harry in the side. “Want to play Exploding Snap?”
Harry smiled at his best friend. He would hold his plans for now. “Of course. Loser buys all the chocolate frogs from the candy cart!”
Ron cried, “You’re on!”
Draco sat back in his seat, staring out the window to hide his pink cheeks. Merlin, he had done it again. He and his stupid cheeky mouth. Mother had warned him to watch it this year, to control his temper and mind his manners. But when Potter strode into his compartment like he owned the bloody place, looking all confident and hero-like, Draco had snapped.
He did not know how to react around Potter and his friends anymore. Before, their relationship was clearly defined. But then the war happened. Potter rescued him and spoke at his trial. And Draco was lost. He did not know where he and Potter stood. And so, he fell into old habits.
And falling he did easily. Insulting the boy wonder was as easy as breathing. It was familiar, comfortable. And inappropriate. Draco owed Potter. He was supposed to be grateful to the Gryffindor. But all Draco could feel, was contempt. He was a Malfoy. And though his father was in Azkaban and half their fortunes were seized, his family name held some prestige still. He was rich, a pureblood, part of the sacred twenty-eight. His reputation was damaged but not unrepairable. And that was all Draco had right now: his pride.
He would not bow to Potter and grovel at the savior’s feet. He would hold his head high and not thank Potter like the arrogant git probably expected him to.
He was embarrassed for the last slur he hurled towards Granger, though. The witch had done nothing to deserve Draco’s hurtful words. Draco even admitted that Granger was the most respectable one of the trio. She at least had some brains. Potter just had muscles; Draco even saw them through the baggy t-shirt. But back to the point. Draco regretted using the slur. He wasn’t a pureblood supremist anymore. Maybe he never really was… But he knew better now. He probably should apologize to Granger. He sighed heavily, mentally composing his apology letter.
“What are you sighing about, your highness? Not enough insults spread today?” Blaise asked good-naturedly.
Draco rolled his eyes, facing his friend. Though he refrained from believing in the concept that is friendship he found the Slytherins were exactly that: his friends. After all they went through, he knew he could rely on them, even though he treated them like lackies and goons. They stood beside him now, not caring about his loss of money and status. The least Draco could do to make up for his past misconduct was trying to be a good friend, too.
“I admit I got a bit irritated by Potter’s presence.” Draco said graciously. That was the nearest thing to an apology his friends would get.
“Maybe you are just hungry. You’re always so dramatic when you're hungry.” Greg mused, offering Draco a treat. “Cauldron cake?”
The old-Draco would have scoffed and sneered at Greg for this insolence. But now, Draco suppressed the snarky comment and stuffed the cake in his mouth. Surprisingly, he really felt a little bit better. “Thank you, Greg”, he said softly. Greg patted his knee sympathetically.
“But seriously, Draco” Pansy piped up, “You can’t insult them like that anymore. The people love them. You don’t know what people will do when you behave like this to their beloved saviour. And if I’m honest, I’m afraid of what they’ll do to me. I wanted to hand Potter to Vol-Voldemort. I doubt my mistake will be forgotten and forgiven. Potter could ruin me if he wanted.”
Draco was proud of Pansy to stand by her mistake and calling the Dark Lord by his name. He wanted to soothe her fears but wasn’t sure how. “Don’t worry, Pansy. Potter doesn’t hold grudges like that; he’s too chivalrous. If he could testify at my trial, he could surely forgive you.” Draco said with more confidence than he felt. “Besides, if he hates someone it would be me. I have once again established my horror regime a few minutes ago, after all.” He tried to lighten her mood by grinning reassuringly.
Pansy sighed, only half convinced. “Please do try to hold in your temper, Draco. I think it’s best to stay on Potter's good side or out of his way.”
“I know”, Draco reached out to squeeze her hand.
“It’s not going to be peaceful if Draco still has his radar for Potter”, Theo mumbled.
“You mean ‘gaydar’”, Blaise corrected him. Theo nodded solemnly.
Draco spluttered. “What do you mean, gaydar?”
“Exactly that. You rant about Potter all the time, lose your temper when he is around and you’re always –always– looking at him.” Theo explained. “And we’re pretty sure it’s because you are gay.”
“For Potter. Gay for Potter”, Blaise added.
“I am not gay for Potter!” Draco screeched.
Blaise looked at his nails with a bored expression. “If denying it helps you sleep at night, whatever, mate.” The other Slytherins snickered.
Before Draco could begin a justified tirade, Greg handed him another cauldron cake. “Draco, I think you’re hungry again.” When Draco grumpily but obediently ate, Greg let out a satisfied sigh. “I hope we get to the welcoming feast, soon. There’s lots to eat.”