The Sixth Floor Bathroom (drarry)

The Sixth Floor Bathroom

Hogwarts is still home to Harry, but it doesn't feel like the same home as before. It no longer feels like treacle tarts and liquorice bullets on Christmas morning, or laughter so loud it hurts your belly. Gone is the feeling of drifting to sleep in the cosy common room by the fire after a mug of hot chocolate, or the feeling of euphoria following the grasp of the snitch in your hand.

It still feels like home, yes, but Harry no longer feels the warmth in its walls, running through the stone like a pulse. He'd chosen to come back to finish his schooling as an eighth year, as had a number of his peers, and although it was a strange sensation being back, he didn't know where else he could've gone.

Harry paces mindlessly around the eighth year dorms, a makeshift arrangement that McGonagall and the other professors had put together by transfiguring a cluster of old classrooms in an unused part of the castle. It had been deemed a worthy attempt at "inter house unity", which seems a bit rich to Harry, but better late than never he supposes.

Not that it had done that much good. When you've all witnessed (and in some cases been a part of) such malicious acts, it seems somewhat pointless to pretend that everything is fine. The returning Slytherin students, of which there are more than Harry had expected, tend to remain amongst themselves, quietly talking in a polite manor in the common room, before retreating to their dorms at the sight of anyone else.

There's a sort of truce between the students, not one that says I forgive you, like you, and agree with your views but one more along the lines of I'm tired and I've watched loved ones die, so have you, let's not waste our time glaring at each other. It seems to suit everyone for the time being.

The one person Harry was most surprised to see upon returning to Hogwarts was Draco Malfoy. The two haven't spoken since the trials, where Harry had testified for Draco and Narcissa Malfoy's innocence and kept them out of Azkaban. After all, the Saviour of the wizarding world has a fair say in these matters. He hadn't done it for any other reason than that it was the right thing to do. Both Malfoy and his mother had saved his life during the war, and had shown remorse. The same couldn't be said for Lucius, who would be sitting in Azkaban serving time right now.

Malfoy looked different, entering the great hall on the first day of eighth year. His grey eyes looked darker, and his face hollowed. His hair no longer slicked back, but hanging in loose curtains over his forehead. He looked a mess, Harry had thought at the time, but had retracted the statement when he caught his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. The Saviour, The Chosen One, whatever people wanted to call him, he looked now just like Harry. Harry, who has grown up under the stairs with too many spiders and not enough food. Harry with his ridiculous mess of hair and crooked glasses, his too skinny body and too tired face. He'd grown during his time at Hogwarts, become more comfortable in his skin, but now staring at his reflection he saw himself as he truly felt; Tired, worn, and like he'd had the weight of the world on his shoulders for a century.

Harry sighs as he collapses onto an armchair in the common room, eager to empty his mind of all thoughts but not knowing how. He checks his watch. 10.45pm. Ron will be snoring away by now, and Hermione is likely to be cuddled up next to Luna in a deep sleep. Harry rolls his head back and forth, irritated with the lot of them. How come everyone else can sleep so easily, despite everything that's happened? Knowing he has no chance of resting, Harry runs he's through his bag for his invisibility cloak, swinging it over his figure and making for the common room exit.

Night time strolls through the castle have become a bit too common for Harry, often lasting until the sun begins to rise and the birds start singing their morning call.