In Your Mind's Eye.

Chapter Three.

(Disclaimer: this story and its characters belong to J.K.Rowling.)

Song: HUSH by Biometrix.

Harry was sitting on the windowsill, legs drawn up to his chest, staring out the rain-splattered glass. Hidden in the corner of the busy Gryffindor common room, he was doing his best to keep out of the way. Ron was next to Hermione, head in his hands, and Harry listened as they talked.

"I don't know why I let him wind me up." Ron mumbled, leaning against his girlfriend as she rubbed his back consolingly. "I just can't stand to see him strutting around again, after the war, after everything that's happened."

Harry forced himself to bring his gaze to Ron, a frown creasing his eyebrows. His friend's temper had seemed to have gotten worse since his brother had died in the battle of Hogwarts. He didn't blame him; he, himself, felt it strange to see Malfoy walking around like his usual confident self. Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting. A new person, someone with less dignity, someone who had changed.

"I don't quite know why he's back at Hogwarts for the eighth year." Hermione said thoughtfully, "I'm surprised he hasn't been put on trial, like his father. After all, if he hadn't have let in the Death Eaters in sixth year, Snape would have never had to kill Dumbledore."

Harry moved his gaze back to his hands, and swallowed, trying his best to keep his eyes open. He knew what awaited him if he closed them; a pair of twinkling blue eyes, hidden behind half moon spectacles, a bowl of sherbet lemons, a mysterious smile.

You could have helped him. The voice ebbed at the back of his mind, trying to find its way in. But you just stood there, and watched. It's your fault.

He did his best to push the words away, shivering once more, despite the warm flicker of flames from the fireplace nearby.

"His mother would have begged. Would have said he was forced." Harry surprised himself by answering, "To them, he's still a child."

Hermione, who was looking at Harry while chewing her lip, managed a smile. Harry imagined she was still thinking about their conversation earlier. I'm fine, he had told her when she had asked, just had a few rough nights, that's all.

"It's mental." Ron was shaking his head in disgust by the time Harry focused on his voice once more, "No Death Eater should walk free."

Harry's mind flashed back to Malfoy's reaction to being called that, just a few hours earlier. The boy had been furious, a wild tense look in his grey eyes, like a cornered animal. It was a strange contrast to his previous arrogant boastings about owning the Mark. Had that been all talk?

Shaking his head, Harry returned to staring out the window. Hermione and Ron's conversation slipped into murmurs. Although the dull downpour of rain obscured his view, Harry could still make out the shape of the sky-high towers of the castle.

It had been a year since the war had been won, right here at Hogwarts, in which the castle had recovered from the destruction inflicted upon it from the onslaught of the giants and the Death Eaters. In this time, teaching positions that had been left empty had been filled, and the headmaster had been replaced by the headmistress; Professor McGonagall. Apart from that, not much had changed.

His gaze lingered on the misted hoops Quidditch Arena, and he quickly averted his eyes elsewhere.

Everything seemed to make him feel ill recently.

Harry's attention was redirected to the centre of the common room, feeling eyes on him, and blinked slightly.

Ginny Weasley was staring at him, hands hanging loose by her sides.