Yet another eighth-year fic where Harry learns the Dark Arts: this time, featuring strained friendship golden-trio and Harry joining the Slytherin Skittles! (Also on AO3)
Harry had been dragging his feet since the end of the war.
At the start, it was simply because he was just that tired – physically and mentally. The war that had dictated his entire life so far was finally over, yet he couldn’t find a single second of peace. Both his days and nights were haunted. He waved off any concern directed his way, claiming he just needed more time before he could get back to normal.
But he didn’t know what normal was. He had never gotten the chance to exist. He went straight from the Dursley’s torment to child soldier.
It took yet another sleepless night for him to figure out that he would have to create a normal, create a peace, for himself because the world certainly didn’t seem to want to give him one as an apology.
So, he slowly started making himself at home at Grimmauld Place. He befriended Kreacher, finding he actually quite liked the grumpy house elf. He made his way through the rooms of the house, thinking he might spruce things up a bit if the house tried not to eat him for it. He ended up spending a lot of his time in the library, unsurprised when the room looked different each time he entered.
Harry knew the house had a mind of its own. He was just glad it like him enough to brighten up the library and add a couch under a definitely new window.
At some point, every single ward was reset. The house became centred around him and no one else had access to it anymore.
Well, two people did. And it wasn’t Hermione and Ron. They never visited the house; had never asked to either. The only time Harry saw them was at the Burrow. Somewhat in place of them, Harry found himself hanging out with the twins a lot more. They had all been close before, but the end of the war brought them closer together.
The twins were the only ones Harry allowed into his safe space; and they always called before coming over.
Things started to look up.
Only for his lungs to stop working properly at the Weasley’s dining table because of a simple letter. He was invited back to finish his studies at Hogwarts. The place he had called him home. The place he had loved dearly. The place that eventually turned into a hell he couldn’t bear to be in. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk through the halls like nothing had happened. Like he wouldn’t be haunted by the faces of people they lost. Like he hadn’t been hunted in the halls.
“-rry?”
“Harry?”
He blinked, vision refocusing. He saw Fred and Goerge standing in front of him, blocking the rest of their family from view.
Harry sucked in a shaky breath before letting it go slowly. Inhale. Exhale.
It was over, it was all in the past, he reminded himself.
“Are you okay, Harry?” George spoke softly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to go back, y’know,” Fred said.
“I know, but-” Harry shrugged. “I’m not exactly doing anything else.”
The twins gave him one last look before nodding, returning to their own seats. The rest of the Weasley family was staring at him, concern written all over their faces. Harry saw several people open their mouths, but he wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever it was they had to say – most like just his name in an extremely sad, pitiful tone.
“I’m fine, really. Just never thought of going back before.”
Narrowed eyes looked his way but the twins quickly diverted the conversation and attention away from him.
Harry really loved them.
It was about two weeks before school was set to return that things got a little bit testy.
Harry had been having a good day – had even had a decent enough sleep the night before. He had been mucking about in the Weasley’s yard, having a fun afternoon out in the sun.
Him, Hermoine, Ron, and Ginny were being chased by Fred and George. The twins had recently discovered water balloons and had immediately began filling them with Merlin knows what.
Harry got hit in the centre of his chest with one, his shirt drenched in what he thought was normal water. Until his shirt started to turn see through.
“What the bloody hell is this?!”
The twins grinned proudly. “That is our latest invention!”
“It’s simply water that turns any fabric translucent.”
“We want to put it in a product –“
“But we also don’t want to end up in Wizengamot.”
Harry nodded. He briefly wondered if they would accept any more funding donations for their business…
“You can vanish it like normal water,” Fred said before he turned his attention to his youngest brother, mischief clear.
Ron screamed seconds later.
Harry bent over in laughter only to be tackled by his now slime covered friend. They went tumbling to the floor, pushing and shoving playfully.
Ron suddenly stilled.
“What is that?” The ginger asked, voice carefully even.
Harry followed his gaze down to his own chest where multiple marks on chest could be seen. The marks ran from just under his collar bone to the bottom of ribs, two rows wide on his left side. They could have been mistaken for tattoos.
Harry pushed himself off the ground. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he noticed the others inching closer, watching the interaction.
“Uh, yeah… I’ve been meaning to tell you guys…” Harry trailed off. He didn’t like the dark look Ron, Hermione and Ginny were already giving him. “I’ve, uh –”
“Oh Harry,” Hermoine cut him off. Her voice was soft yet scolding as if she was speaking to a child. “Why would you do that.”
Harry frowned.
“Those don’t come off. Ever.” Hermione said.
“Why do you even know what they are?” Ron asked, livid.
“Why do you?” Harry snapped back. He didn’t appreciate the feeling of his friends ganging up on him to lecture him about something that he knew a whole lot more than them about. He felt the twins move closer to him, silent and calm, but there.
When Ginny finally spoke up, her face and tone were a mixture of distress and distrust. “Are they left over from him?”
“No. I put them there. I wanted them there,” Harry said. His confidence didn’t waver under their gazes. With a wave of his hand, he finally dried his shirt and spun on his heels. He ignored the angry calls from his friends. He was over having to explain himself and the things he did, especially to the people he cared about.
He just needed a bit of time to cool off.
(The twins ended up floo-calling him that night. They wanted him to know they didn’t think any differently of him. In fact, they just hoped he was safe with it all and, most importantly, happy.
Harry could have cried.)
There had been a short, hushed argument on the train platform.
The train ride to Hogwarts was spent in absolute silence. The golden trio were the only ones occupying the carriage. None of their friends had dared to try to be any form of buffer as the thick tension threatened to strangle everyone.
Harry dragged his feet all the way to the great hall, even stopping to say hello to the thestrals.
He didn’t listen to McGonagall’s welcome speech. It was pointless background drabble that didn’t interest him at all any longer. At least not to start with.
“A lot has happened to everyone in the past few years.”
No shit, Harry thought with a bitter snort.
“To help promote inter-house unity, everyone will be resorted. We assume most people won’t change houses. For those students who do, know that it is not a bad thing, and I except them to be welcomed warmly. We will not tolerate bullying.
“We will start with our first years, as normal. Throughout the week, we will slowly cover the rest of the school. Now, first up…”
Harry went rigid. He did not, under any circumstance, want to talk to that damned hat again in front of everyone. He didn’t want to hear its opinion. He knew he couldn’t win another debate with it. Now, it wasn’t that he was scared of what the hat might find, of what might become – he had come to terms with that months ago. He feared always being watched, scrutinized, and held to a different standard. Except this time, it wouldn’t be because of his so-called destiny – it’d be because of his schoolhouse. Something so trivial.
All he wanted was less from people. He just wanted to exist. If strangers could stop perceiving him, that’d be wonderful.
He couldn’t remember the rest of the welcome feast clearly. Nor most of the following days. He was stuck in a haze, caught between the past and an uncertain future.
The main thing he could vaguely recall was that he shared quite a few classes with Slytherins, and he had even exchanged a silent but civil greeting with Malfoy and his friends.
Friday night rolled around, and Harry’s bones jittered. They, the Gryffindors, were going last. There was only a small number of eighth years, but he had already seen several of them switch houses. In fact, throughout the week, he noticed that Ravenclaw and Slytherin swapped a few students. He was well aware of the largely different reaction that occurred when a new student joined the snake house.
The prejudice didn’t sit well with him. Not anymore.
“Harry Potter,” McGonagall called out.
With a fortifying breath, Harry made his way to the front, ignoring the stares as best as he could. He grimaced when the hat sat on his head.
“Well, hello again.”
“Hi,” Harry said. “Are we going to argue tonight?”
“No child, there is only one choice this time.”
“So why haven’t you announced it yet?” Harry asked, frowning. He blocked out the whispers coming from the crowd, all curious as to what the pair were discussing.
“I merely wanted to wish you well. Things would have been very different had you not at the center of a war.”
“Wait.” Harry hesitated before continuing. “If everything hadn’t of happened, what house would you have put me in in first year?”
He could feel the hat smile and his eyes snapped open in the direction of the Slytherin table, green eyes automatically meeting gray.
“Slytherin!” the hat boomed, effectively silencing the entire hall.
Inhale. Exhale.
Harry’s feet carried him mindlessly to towards his new table as he tried his hardest to ignore the murmurs that broke out across the hall. The tie he had lazily thrown over his shoulders was bled of the gold and red, changing into silver and green. Conveniently, there was a free seat at the end of the table for him to plop down.
Inconveniently, it was next to Pansy Parkinson. Which meant, as he looked up, he was greeted by Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy.
“Well, this is interesting,” Malfoy said. Harry couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
“Not now, Malfoy, please,” Harry said quietly. He was not willing to look past the two boys in front of him and into the sea of students. At the baffled table of Gryffindors.
Malfoy’s expression changed. It was only a slight difference, but his eyes narrowed – though it wasn’t full of hate like normal, it was a gaze full of curiosity.
And Harry would know. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew he had a staring problem when it came to the blonde.
Left alone at the end of the table, the four of them stayed quiet throughout the rest of dinner. Somehow, it was more companionable than the stifling atmosphere that had clung and suffocated him at the other table.
They stayed seated until majority of the other students had shuffled their way to their dorms. Harry wasn’t stressed about moving anytime soon, and it seemed the other three shared his sentiment. What was confusing was that when he made to leave, so did they. For some reason, Parkinson had taken to walking directly beside Harry while the other two were behind them.
And when Harry stopped just past the threshold of the hall, so did Parkinson, the other two falling into line with them.
“Ah, Gryffindors,” Parkinson mumbled, distaste clear in her voice.
Loitering about in the hallway was none other than Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The trio were waiting for someone.
But Harry – he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t have that conversation with them just yet. Their almost week of forced proximity did little to change any of their feelings. So, he simply walked past them, speeding up when they realised he had passed by them.
Surprisingly, the other three Slytherins matched his quick pace all the way to the dungeons.
“Uh, thanks?”
Parkinson waved him off, bidding the boy goodnight as she headed off to the girls’ section of the dorms.
Malfoy slowly started to wander off.
“Well, come on,” Zabini said, motioning for Harry to follow them.
Right. He was sharing with them. Totally fine.
Once inside his new room, Harry felt his bones start to rattle again. “Is there a working floo down here?” he asked.
Malfoy raised a brow but pointed at the fireplace that was tucked into the corner of their room, three dingy chairs around it. The blonde then drew the curtains of his bed tightly.
Zabini had collapsed onto his bed as soon as entering the room, curtains closed, and a silencing charm muttered.
Harry felt himself relax a bit. He rummaged through his trunk before kneeling in front of the fireplace. He knew without a doubt that the person he was calling would still be awake,
Harry was thrilled that it was the weekend. He couldn’t deal with anymore classes, already dreading homework that hadn’t been assigned yet. His professors were already giving him looks because it was obvious he was not one hundred percent there.
He was also glad he didn’t have to immediately deal with all the whispers. Because there were always whispers about him.
He hated it.
So, he slept in. His bed was suspiciously comfortable in the new dorm – it made him curious about Slytherin house rules on charms.
He skipped breakfast altogether, not even sneaking into the kitchen to badger the elves for a small snack. He simply lounged about his new, temporary, home.
Things weren’t bad down in the dungeons. The room was spacious enough that three grown boys wouldn’t trip over each other. The beds were heaven to sleep in and the curtains were a pretty pattern – something nice to look at when he couldn’t sleep. The eighth years even had their own attached bathrooms. Hell, they had a fireplace in their room, plus it had a working floo-call point. And Harry was pretty sure he saw a note saying they were allowed to transfigure the three sad armchairs that were in front of the fireplace.
His dorm in Gryffindor was the same as it had always been. It hadn’t been working for him.
The private shower, on the other hand, most certainly was.
Which is how he ended up shirtless, rummaging through his trunk for a shirt, when his roommates strolled through the door.
A collection of books, scrolls and quills went clattering to the floor. They laid abandoned as both Malfoy and Zabini stared at Harry’s exposed chest.
“Those are runes,” Malfoy said to no one in particular. He stepped over the pile of stuff, arm twitching in an aborted movement. “And so many of them too...”
“Uh...” Harry hastily found a shirt, the tag scratching his chest. But that feeling was nothing compared to the nerves rattling his entire body because Malfoy was still staring at his chest.
Zabini hummed. “You’ve been dabbling in the Dark Arts.”
“Dabbling. Honestly Blaise. He has clearly done more than that.”
“Well, we don’t know if those hurt or not.”
Malfoy scoffed, not even turning his head to look at his friend. “Don’t be daft. Those were perfectly done. Perfectly healed.”
Zabini crossed his arms, scowling at the back of his friend’s head. “You’re the expert,” he said snarkily.
“Between our families someone has to.”
Before the pair could continue their bickering, Harry interrupted. “Are you going to include me in this conversation at all?” He asked, and after a moment he added, “Are you going to tell someone?”
Malfoy blinked once, twice, thrice. “You’re an idiot,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from the other man’s chest. Levitating the clutter on the floor, Malfoy moved towards the fireplace, muttering under his breathe.
Zabini suddenly let out a laugh, followed immediately with a sigh. “This is going to be a long year.” He paused on Harry’s face. “We won’t tell anyone. Slytherins are great secret keepers,” he said with an eyeroll. He turned to the door, calling out as he did so. “I’m getting Pansy!”
“So…” Harry said, drawing out the ‘o’ as he put his shirt on the right way.
“If you ask me another stupid question, I will hex you,” Malfoy replied immediately, not even looking up from what he was doing.
Harry rolled his eyes, ungraciously flopping into the armchair next to Malfoy. He winced when he landed on a piece of wood, the cushioning non-existent. “You know a lot about the Dark Arts then?” he asked. Almost immediately he let out a yelp, rubbing his now sore and stinging thigh. “What the hell you git!?”
“I told you,” Malfoy said, finally looking back up at Harry. “Ask a stupid question, you get hurt.”
“It wasn’t a stupid question,” Harry huffed. He sunk further into his chair.
Malfoy raised a brow in response.
“Sue me for wanting to double check so I don’t make a fool out of myself.”
Malfoy didn’t hesitate to say, “You don’t need any help with that.” The smirk on his lips was clear in his tone.
“No.” Harry sat upright, unable to keep still under the other boy’s gaze. “You do all the work, you damn manipulative snake.”
Malfoy’s smirk only grew. “Careful, Potter, you’re one too now.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to act like you.”
“Well you’re here for a reason.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, adding, “Obviously.”
“Are you going to be a git this entire year?” Harry asked. For a second, he sounded tired – truly done with any form of conflict.
“For your information, I am charming, Potter. Do you know what that word means?”
“You are the opposite of charming. Can you at least be bloody civil with me?”
“I won’t murder you in your sleep,” Malfoy stated, body language screaming disappointment. When he got nothing but a glare in return, he sighed deeply. Potter was no fun. “Fine. Oh, you’ll need to look out for the first years a lot.”
“Sure? Why would I do that?” Harry didn’t know why the blonde would even care. He had seen Slytherins tease, and prank, and frame innocent students from the other houses. First years included.
“Don’t be daft. You know how we’re treated. Even if we don’t like each other, us snakes keep an eye out because no one else will.”
And that – well, that put a wrench in what Harry thought Slytherin was. He didn’t trust that they wouldn’t turn on their own housemates, but the idea that they look out for each other, and specifically the young ones, was different. It made him wonder if some of the things he saw in the previous years was simply the older students trying to protect the young ones.
If he was being honest, he had never cared – or thought – about the bullying until his life turned upside down. He could no longer stand by while some random, innocent second year was berated for their house.
Harry’s next words were soft. “I figured the bullying would stop after the war.”
“Circe. I may just strangle you.”
“Hey!” Harry’s sombre mood disappeared as quick as it came.
The door was suddenly thrown open, interrupting the pair. Zabini and Parkinson strolled into the room.
“Oh good, you two haven’t killed each other,” Parkinson said, face bored but eyes curious.
“Yet,” Malfoy added. The tips of Parkinson’s lips tipped upwards.
“You just promised not to kill me!”
“In your sleep. I may well still while you’re awake.”
“Okay boys,” Parkinson interrupted. She merely rolled her eyes at the harsh glares that were directed her way. “I’m here for Dark Runes, not squawking.”
“Why should I even be talking to you lot about this?” Harry asked her, eyes narrowing at the young lady.
Parkinson looked him up and down, eyes calculating. It was as if she was putting together all the pieces of Harry and dissecting them again, finding weaknesses. She seemed like the type of woman to know everything about you – whether it be against your will or not.
“We’re the only ones to talk to. I know you’re not daft, Potter, so stop acting like it,” Pansy all but scolded him.
And Harry didn’t have a comeback for that. He knew it was the truth. The first person he had tried to ask was Malfoy of all people. Deflating into his chair even more, Harry crossed his arms, trying to not look eager. “Well, that doesn’t explain you guys being nice – civil.”
The three (original) Slytherins shared a look before replying with something about their house code. Then, taking turns, Parkinson mentioned she was supposed to be making good connections, and her family would see him as the best one possible. Both Zabini and Malfoy said their families would hate the mere idea that they would be friendly with each other, and that delights them to no end. Quietly, Malfoy added that one simply cannot fake the arts.
Zabini and Parkinson rolled their eyes.
Parkinson leaned slightly out of her seat, reaching across Malfoy, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth partially. She stared directly at Harry, a smirk playing on her lips. “Draco here is attracted to power. Dark magical power even more so,” she mock whispered, pulling back into her seat before the blonde could swat at her. She laughed as her friend started turning red.
“I’m going to murder you one day,” Malfoy said, pointing a spindly finger at her.
Parkinson waved him off. “In your dreams, darling.” She then moved the conversation back to runes.
She started off by talking about her own experience with them. She personally didn’t have any, but her mother had quite a few – most of them to do with healing and protection. Most of her relatives on her mothers’ side experimented in the Arts and had at least one rune either on their skin or on a tool. Her father’s side of the family, however, were more hesitant to utilise the Arts. Not after one of her uncles died trying to put a rune on his skin.
“He was a terrible man, though, and an incompetent wizard.” Although she didn’t say it, everyone knew from her tone she was glad the man was forever gone from her life.
“My mom,” Zabini started, immediately shooting Malfoy a look that had the blonde keeping his mouth shut. At least for now. “Doesn’t care for them. She has her specialities. I think mamma has them on her brewing tools though.”
Harry sat there, taking in the information. When the room went quiet, he turned to Malfoy.
“What?”
“Your turn,” Harry said.
Malfoy scoffed but complied. In his own way. “My father was fascinated with, him. And my mother was a Black. Need I say more?”
“Not if you’re going to act like that.”
“I’ve read some of her notes on the Dark Arts,” Harry said. It was comical how all heads whipped to stare at him – there should have been sound effects. It was then his turn to explain his own relationship with the Dark Arts. He didn’t tell them everything, obviously, but he told them all about the library. If someone was going to appreciate the magic of Grimmauld Place, it was going to be the three other people in the room.
It felt nice talking to them about it. It felt nice to talk to someone who didn’t think he was insane or ‘infected’ from the horcrux. Well, other than the twins of course.
Parkinson stood from her seat, stretching out with her arms above her head. She hummed to herself before starting to turn towards the door. “Come on Potter.”
Harry was scrambling out of his seat to follow her before he realised what he was doing. He opened his mouth to say something, but the girl beat him to it.
“We’re getting food. Come along,” she said, already halfway out the door.
Harry walked with her side-by-side as they made their way through lesser used hallways that led to the great hall. The comfortable silence that covered them grew tense with each step that brought them closer. His back hurt from straining his muscles, jaw clenched, his hands in fists in his pant pockets. As soon as the pair got past the threshold, the murmurs immediately started. Harry tried his damned hardest to not listen as he let Parkinson pile plates of food into his arms while she talked with one of the Slytherin girls. Harry didn’t know how long it took for them to start the trek back to the dungeons, but it felt like an eternity.
Before they got too far away, a familiar head of brown hair popped into view.
“Hey, Harry! Parkinson,” Neville greeted. He looked at the girl curiously but friendlier than most other people. Neville was a smart lad. If his friend was being civil with her, he would too because he trusted Harry’s intuition. And most importantly, Harry was his friend.
“Longbottom.” At least Parkinson was being surprisingly polite.
Harry smiled cautiously at his friend. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know what happened over ‘break’, or what’s going on with you, Hermione, and Ron, but I’m here if you want to talk? You know I don’t care what you do? You out of everyone deserves a break mate,” Neville said with a warm smile on his face. He meant every word.
Harry felt himself relax a little, something warm in his chest. “Thanks, Nev.”
Neville gave him one last smile before leaving the pair to it.
Harry had a little bit more hope for the year to come.
“Do you mind if I call you Harry?” Parkinson suddenly asked when they were almost to the dorms.
Harry fumbled a step. “No? Why would you want to though?”
“We’re going to spend a year together, and keeping up pretences can be so tiring,” she said. Honestly, on some days she couldn’t stand all the propriety and manners.
Harry managed to drag himself to the great hall before breakfast ended. He made himself comfortable at the end of the table, back facing all the other houses. He was quite happy to let the conversation simply happen around him as he quietly ate his eggs and toast.
"And we thought you were going to skip," Zabini said.
Harry shrugged. "Honestly? I thought about it."
The first week back had been super awkward. Since his friends were acting the way they were, everyone else in Gryffindor was trying to avoid them during class time and Neville was somehow always not available. Now though? Now he had to deal with them in a different house. The only highlight was that half of Slytherin's classes were with the Ravenclaws.
"What would happen if I just stopped going to classes? Would she just expel me?" Harry thought out loud.
Zabini pointed his fork at him. "And have everyone think we killed you in your sleep? No way in hell, Harry."
Harry groaned but the other man had a point. That didn't mean he had to be happy at all about going to class.
He glanced at Malfoy when the blonde sounded like he choked on his food.
"Since when do you two use first names?"
Harry shrugged. "Does it matter? You can call me Harry too if you want..." He wasn't quite sure if he had been heard or not. Or, if the other two Slytherins just really liked to bicker with each other that much. He watched on slightly amused while Parkinson turned away from them, over their dramatics.
Blaise smirked. "Aw, jealous?"
"Why would I be jealous?" Malfoy asked, sounding incredulous.
"You've wanted to use his name for years." Blaise sounded so confident in himself even as the blonde scoffed in response.
"What an absolutely stupid answer." Malfoy quirked a brow, looking down on his friend.
"Really?" Blaise said and it was in that moment Malfoy's face started to fall as he knew his friend was about to say something incriminating. "I remember you saying something like you'd love to —"
Harry grinned as he watched a reddening Malfoy lunge at his friend in order to slap a hand over his mouth. Threats were being sprouted by his now tomato of a roommate while Zabini sat there, very obviously not sorry for his actions in the slightest.
Harry snorted and suddenly gray eyes turned on him, narrowed menacingly.
Before him and Malfoy could cause a scene at breakfast, the new head of Slytherin glided past.
"Do settle down before class boys." And with that she was gone.
Reminding Harry about his lack of enthusiasm about class.
"I don't exactly have a good track record with teachers," Harry complained as he, Zabini and Malfoy made their way to the potions classroom. (Pansy had abandoned them when they started bickering). Thankfully they had left before most of the Gryffindors, letting Harry relax a little bit as they made their way through the halls.
"Professor Wisterianon won't kill you," Blaise said. The look he got in return had him adding, "Well, I'm like 80% sure she won't. And besides, he'll be your partner so you don't fail and get on her radar."
Malfoy's head snapped towards them. Harry was concerned he had hurt himself. "I did not agree to that."
Harry's lips ticked up before he leant against the wall beside Malfoy. "C'mon Draco. Be my potions partner," he said in a sing song voice with a little pout on his lips. "Otherwise, you might end up with a Gryffindor," he mock whispered. The blondes’ lips twitched in response as he silently eyed Harry up and down. "Promise we'll be top of the class," Harry said with a growing smirk. He knew he had won. The blonde would never pass on a chance of being able to gloat about his 'geniusness' in potions.
"You better keep that promise, Potter," Malfoy said right as the other students started showing up.
Immediately murmurs started down the hall, and Harry rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall as the classroom door was opened.
He spotted Ginny down the hall giving him a dark look which was mimicked on Ron's face. Hermione seemed concerned and contemplative. Thankfully, Neville was there, and he smiled and waved. Harry gladly returned it before he felt someone flick his ear.
Parkinson cackled when he jumped.
Harry followed her in, trying his very best to ignore the looks he got for being friendly with the girl.
Harry settled down into the furthest seat in the corner. Malfoy sat beside him without a word while Zabini and Parkinson sat in front of them.
Harry swore he tried to pay attention to the class content. To whatever the so far nice professor was talking about.
However, he was staring at her hair. He had never seen things like that before. All of her hair was parted into little sections, all twisted together to stay. Each section had what he thought was random bits of plastic or silver, but the more he stared at them, the more familiar they felt.
He was suddenly brought out of his thoughts when he saw a flame flicker.
The class had moved on to partner work.
And Malfoy was staring at him with clear annoyance. "Did you not write anything down?"
"Uh..."
The rooms volume increased as each pair started chatting away. Which meant everyone would be distracted and wouldn't see if Malfoy hit Harry. Because the blonde looked a second away hurting him.
"Just – just prepare the feather," Malfoy ordered. A second later he glanced over to Harry's board to check on the feather. His eyes and hands twitched. "The fuck is that?"
"The feather prepared? Obviously?"
"Do you even know the basics, Potter?"
Harry sighed, pushing up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He looked apologetic as he said, "Snape skipped it and no one else bothered to teach me."
"How do you plan to keep your promise if you are a complete and utter lost cause?"
"You could tutor me!" Harry kept speaking before the other could object. "We can also talk about other stuff. Y'know, mutually beneficial or whatever."
Malfoy opened his mouth, a deep scowl set on his face, before he stopped. His mouth clicked shut and an evil smile took over his features. That was definitely going to mean trouble for Harry.
(And the blonde in no way looked good. Not at all).
"Fine. Cut the barbs off by sliding the scissors down the feather. Then chop the rachis into tiny pieces. Make sure to keep them separate on the board."
"Only if you say please."
Malfoy almost throttled him, all consequences be damned. He did, however, send a jinx at Pansy and Blaise when the pair started snickering from the table in front of them. The blonde closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and refused to look at the idiot that was currently the bane of his existence as he said a simple, “Please.”
His annoying friends – though he was currently debating that status – started laughing louder. He sent another jinx their way but that only set them off further, their cackles being heard by the entire class. He sent a stinging hex to the smug bastard sitting next to him, pleased by the ‘ow’ the git let out.
Their teacher glanced at them but let them be.
The next day in their potions class, Harry started nodding off. They were making the same potion from the day before and he had been up late, Malfoy trying to drill the basics of potioneering into his brain. It didn’t work. Which was fine for now. All Harry had to do was prepare the feather and clean things for Malfoy.
At the end of the lesson, when the professor dismissed everyone, she asked the four Slytherin’s in the back corner to stay seated.
The professor glided over to them, not quite smiling but certainly not angry with her students.
“Everything alright, professor?” Blaise asked.
The woman nodded. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just had a few questions for you all. I noticed Mr Potter staring at my hair yesterday.”
Harry felt his face go hot. “Sorry, I haven’t seen the style before…” he mumbled out.
“It’s quite alright,” Professor Wisterianon said, waving him off. She took out one of her hair accessories, holding it out so that the students could see it better. When Parkinson reached for it, she encouraged the girl to pick it up. She caught the instant recognition from the teen. “You all know what it is, correct?”
Malfoy answered for all of them.
“And you are all aware of the implications and fundamentals of the Dark Arts?”
“Yes, we are,” Malfoy said.
The professor hummed. “Are you practicing safely?”
“Yes.”
“I assume none of you are part of a coven then.”
“We don’t know anyone that’s in a coven. I thought all of them disbanded years ago when things got really, well, rough,” Zabini said. His mamma used to be a member of a coven, but like he said, it had disbanded before he was born. She never talked about it much but he knew she missed it and the people in it as most of them went their separate ways afterwards.
Professor Wisterianon sighed, reminiscing over something. “Most, yes. My coven only dissolved last year. One of the reasons I accepted this job, actually. I was hoping to find some bright young minds that are interested in the Arts.”
“Really?” Harry asked. He was hopeful that this lady was as nice as she seemed to be, but his brain was telling him that it was too much of a coincidence.
As if sensing his trepidation, Professor Wisterianon smiled warmly at them. “Yes. I don’t need to be involved entirely, but if you have any questions or requests, I would be happy to help.” Her eyes flittered over both Harry and Malfoy. “If you have any hesitations, know I am an open book. I know at least one of you know how to test the intentions of someone with a Dark spell.”
And with that she dismissed them.
Confused, Harry followed his housemates out of the room and all the way back to their dorm room. (They had a spare period before lunch). He slumped into one of the chairs by the fireplace, jolting himself out of his daze when he sat on the wood frame once again.
“Ow,” he complained, immediately standing back up to rub his tailbone.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. With a huff, the blonde wordlessly transfigured all three of their sad little chairs. Now their room had two expensive looking armchairs as well as a matching chaise-loveseat, somehow looking old and brand new at the same time. Something that one would definitely find in a fancy house like the Malfoy Manor. And, of course, they were green.
Harry sat down on the chaise and was surprised by how comfortable it was. It was almost as soft as his bed.
Parkinson and Zabini immediately claimed an armchair each, leaving Malfoy to begrudgingly sit next to Harry who rolled his eyes.
“Do we trust her?”
“I’m not sure,” Malfoy said.
Zabini looked smug for some reason. “I think she’s alright.”
Harry and Pansy rolled their eyes. The boys were about to start bickering again.
“You know the bloody spell, don’t you?”
Zabini gasped mockingly. “Why, don’t you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Wow, I’m surprised you don’t know such a simple spell.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
But, thankfully, Pansy was not up for dealing with their nonsense. “Focus!”
Harry made it almost his entire first week of being a Slytherin without being confronted. With his luck, that made him suspicious.
True enough to the mess that was his life, something happened on Friday night before dinner. Harry had wanted just a little moment of quiet completely to himself, so, he found a nice alcove to hide out in. He spent almost two hours in there reading and making his own notes about the Arts in a little, spell-locked notebook. He had just shrunk both down into his pocket to head to dinner when a head popped into the alcove.
“Found him!” Ron yelled down the hall.
Sighing, Harry stepped into the hallway. He had probably put off this conversation for too long, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have it.
In a matter of seconds, he was stood with his back against the cold, stone wall while Ron, Ginny, and Hermione stood in front of him, each with a different expression of anger.
“Finally. Harry, have you been avoiding us?” Hermione asked, tone both hurt and angry.
Harry pulled on the curls that sat at the base of his neck. There was no point lying to them at this point. Telling them what they wanted to hear wouldn’t help either. They would either get past his interest in the Arts, or they wouldn’t. Simple as that. “Yeah, I have actually.”
“Mate! Have you completely lost your mind!” Ron yelled.
Harry wondered if he was going to say anything instead of screaming it at him.
Ginny crossed her arms, fuming as much as her brother. “That’s just not right! And being all friendly with Slytherins, too. I think you have lost it. How could you?”
“Oh, don’t get me started on those bloody snakes. What have they done, huh? Slipped something into your food to get you to like them? Huh? Is that it? Because it sure makes more sense than you actually liking those prats!” It seemed that no, Ron was not going to stop screaming at him.
Harry bristled. He looked at each of his so-called friends faces, not hearing a single word that was coming out of Hermione’s mouth. All he could see was anger, annoyance, pain. All looking at him like he was the course of it.
He felt all these unwanted emotions rise to the surface, but he shut them down. He went blank. As cold as the wall against his back. It was almost comical when the others realised.
“I’m not exactly in the mood to be yelled at or lectured,” Harry said, pushing off the wall. All three of them took a step back. “So, unless you want to have a civil conversation, I’d like to get to dinner.”
“Harry,” Hermione called after him when he walked away. “We’re sorry, we’re just concerned.”
“I’m fine though. I’m doing better than I was for the entire past two years.” And with that, Harry picked up the speed and rounded the corner. He paused for a second before shaking it off and heading to the Great Hall.
He tried to relax when he sat down, but it was a bit hard. It was tiring getting into a debate or being berated every time he saw his oldest friends. The rest of the school might be giving him a break from hell, but his friends weren’t.
He stabbed at his mashed potatoes.
Thankfully, his housemates kept quiet and didn’t try to include him in their conversations.
Eventually he cooled down. Which meant he was tired – oh so tired – and if one thing went wrong there was an extremely high chance he would cry.
A treacle tart was silently passed onto his plate by spindly fingers. Glancing to his side, he caught Malfoy sliding a second one in his direction. The blonde simply set the tart on Harry’s plate and ate the crumbs that were stuck to his fingers.
Harry smiled.
Malfoy gave him a hesitant smile back. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Everyone in the great hall then turned to the Gryffindor table to watch Weasley storm out of the room with Neville calling after him, “Ronald, you kiss your mother with that disgraceful mouth!?”
Neville smiled at Harry, looking satisfied even though he got 20 house points deducted.
