never let me go

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Lewis Capaldi – Bruises

"I've been told to get you off my mind

But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind

Oh my lord, I need you by my side

Even though I'm nothing to you now."

Harry headed back into the Great Hall with his head down, trying not to be noticed. The Sorting Ceremony had begun, so most students' attention was now on the first years and the Hat.

"Harry, Harry!" Ron whispered loudly, looking like he was about to burst as Harry sat back down. "Guess who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is?"

Harry's eyes immediately turned to the head table, searching for new faces, but the face he saw was one that was so familiar that for a moment he felt as though he couldn't breathe again. But it couldn't be – he was dead.

"Aberforth!" Ron said excitedly beside him, and Harry realised of course, of course it wasn't Dumbledore, it was his brother. The two looked so alike that they could be twins, but as Harry really looked, he could see the subtle differences.

"It'll be great, won't it?" Ron went on. "I mean, he helped out in the final battle and everything."

Hermione gave him a stern look as if to say not to bring up the battle after Harry just had a small episode. Harry gave her a small smile. "Yeah, it'll be good," he said to Ron. Glancing back up at the teacher's table, he saw that Aberforth – Professor Dumbledore, he supposed; that would take some getting used to – was watching him with a knowing look.

The rest of the feast passed as usual, and Harry was all too glad when it was finally over and they could turn in. Hermione and Ron shooed away the younger students who tried to ask Harry questions as they left – they were mostly first and second years who hadn't already been to school with Harry. It was a relief to finally get away from the crowds of people.

When they reached the new dormitory, Harry took a moment to take in the common room. It was smaller than the house common rooms, as there were less students for it to house, but it still had a cosy feeling. A banner for each of the houses hung on the walls, and a great fireplace set into the wall filled the room with warmth. Heading upstairs, he saw that each room was labelled with the owner's name, and with a jolt he saw that Malfoy's was next to his.

Thinking back on how Malfoy had looked when he arrived, Harry wondered if perhaps he wasn't coping too well after the war. If Harry himself struggled from time to time, then surely Malfoy, whose family had been slandered by the press and whose father had been sent to Azkaban, who had endured just as much as Harry had only on the opposite side of the war...

What better time than now, Harry thought, to bury the hatchet. Maybe they would never really be friends, but if he didn't try, he would never know. And he didn't want to leave someone to suffer on their own, even if it was Malfoy.

Having made his decision, Harry walked up to Malfoy's door and raised his hand to knock, and right at that moment Malfoy opened the door. The shock on his face probably mirrored Harry's own.

"I think you have the wrong door, Potter," Malfoy said with a sneer, but there was none of the usual malice behind it. That was a good sign, right? In fact, he sort of looked... tired. The circles under his eyes were so much more pronounced close up, and his eyes looked hazy.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Not interested." Malfoy pushed past him and pulled his door shut, heading down the stairs. Harry followed.

Malfoy, hearing the painting concealing the dormitory entrance swing shut behind Harry, scowled back at him.

"Why are following me?" he asked without slowing down.

"Because I said I wanted to talk."

"What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Malfoy had entered the chamber of moving staircases and was halfway down one with Harry close behind when the staircase decided to move, forcing them to come to a halt while it decided where to drop them off.

"I think we should start over," Harry said.

Malfoy finally turned to face him. "Meaning?"

"I know we were rivals for most of school, and then... the war..." Harry swallowed hard. "But I think that we should put all of that behind us."

Malfoy didn't respond, only furrowed his brow. Since he wasn't immediately shutting him down, Harry saw that as an opportunity and stuck out his hand, taking them back to all those years ago when they had first met.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Malfoy only stared at the hand extended to him, weariness creeping across his face. Until finally, with a small sigh, he accepted it.

"Malfoy," he said, looking up at Harry two steps above him. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.