𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐈𝐕

"Harry."

Someone was pounding on my door.

"Harry!"

It was early. Seven in the morning maybe. I hadn't dreamed at all, which was a pleasant surprise, considering the fact that I hadn't really had a decent sleep since before the war.

"Wake up, you wanker!"

Ron. I recognized his voice anywhere, and now that I was finally registering my consciousness, I could hear that he sounded almost worried.

"Harry? You good, mate?"

"Yeah, yeah. Come in, Ron." He opened the door and burst through. He began to look around the room as if he were searching for something important.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked confused.

"Why wouldn't you be? Are you serious?" One of his flaming eyebrows stood tall above the other.

"No," I said groggily, "I'm Harry."

He hit me with my pillow.

"You're sharing with Malfoy," the way Ron said his name, you would've thought it was a curse word, "I would've thought youd've murdered each other by now."

Now that I could fully pry my eyes open, I could see that Draco's bed was already empty. He was no where in sight. "Actually, he hasn't said a word to me. He crashed early last night and must've risen early this morning."

Now, both of his eyebrows were raised just as high. His mouth turned downwards in a surprised frown before shrugging his shoulders and sitting next to me on my bed.

"Huh. Well, we should probly go get breakfast then, yeah?"

My head still felt heavy from sleep, so I nodded sloppily before heading to the bathroom to change into some clothes. It was Wednesday, so normally classes would've started, but McGonagall thought it would be best to give us a little more time to adjust before throwing ourselves back into the loop.

Once I emerged in a cream, cable knit jumper that Mrs Weasley made me and some grey trousers, Ron and I made our way down to the Great Hall.

Because it was so early, there were only a select few sitting at the tables. Hermione was one of them, sitting beside Neville.

"Morning, love," Ron said and leaned down to plant a soft peck on her cheek. "Sleep well?"

Hermione scoffed dragged her fingers through her tangled hair. "No," she said, "Parkinson kept me up all night with her yapping and whining. It was awful."

Ron frowned and Neville sniggered. "Yapping and whining? You aren't even friends!" Ron said.

"Oh, she was drunk," she said plainly. "She must've made an early trip to the kitchens to snatch some fire whiskey."

I stopped listening to their conversation after that. Slytherin gossip and getting so drunk you black out didn't interest me anymore. It's not like I was surprised to hear this anyways. In fact, I was surprised that Pansy was the only one I'd heard of doing it. I knew I wasn't the only one who was scarred.

Everyone seemed to need something to cling on to for support after the war. No one ever spoke of it—at least not at The Burrow anyways—so there needed to be some form of distraction. Coping.

Hermione had suggested that I see a mind healer multiple times, but she was shut down every time by Mrs Weasley saying that I wasn't crazy, and I would get through it with time.