Chapter Text
The walk back to the classroom was silent.
Nothing could be heard above their footsteps on the cold stone.
“So….How do you feel?”
“Fine.” He replied shortly, not letting a hint of emotion in his voice.
“Are you su-.” She asked after a few seconds of deafening silence.
“Why are you even asking, Parkinson?” Why do you care? He wanted to ask but stamped on the urge.
“It is common courtesy, Potter, ” she said snappily.
“Oh yeah, for sure. Common courtesy… Was it common courtesy when you would make fun of me and my frie-” Harry stopped himself before he said something he would regret.
“Not much to say now.” She stated with a quirk on her lips, causing Harry to grumble.
“Look,” Se started again, albeit much more warily, “I know we were dicks to you so…” She paused, seemingly gathering up the courage to say the words he was about to let out. “I apologise.” It is said so quickly that he thinks he imagined the two words.
Silence
“And about June-”
“Oh, there it is. I was waiting for the time when you would try to convince me otherwise. I know what I saw, in fact, I saw your father that night in the graveyard. Frankly, it's insulting that you don't believe he’s back when there is overwhelming proof that suggests otherwise.” He was panting at the end of his rant and he could feel his magic rolling off of him in waves.
His magic had been harder to keep under control after his emancipation. After he was officially entered into the Triwizard tournament he was magically emancipated because the Cup was only meant to allow overage wizards.
During the holidays he had snuck off to Gringotts and claimed his lordships to Potter, Peverall and Slytherin. He couldn't take up the Black lordship because Sirius had never legally been disowned and was still viable to become Lord Black.
After that, his magic had been haywire. It was harder to control and easier to anger. However, Hogwarts seemed to calm his magic down. He wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that he was Lord Slytherin. Most likely.
“I don't know if you're stupid or just unobservant but you are talking to someone in the house that would believe you.”
Right. Half the death eaters who were in the graveyard were parents of people in his year. Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle. It is strikingly clear that the person he was talking to now knows he’s back. There is no denying the word of pureblood gossip.
“Oh.” He says dumbly, because what are you to say to someone who just admitted they knew a dark lord has returned from death?
“Yeah, oh .”
“Well.. that's good to know.” Honestly, he was just glad someone else loved him. Harry felt like he was going crazy and even for a moment thought he had made the entire nightmare of the graveyard up. They were outside the potions classroom again ready to go in when Parkinson began to speak again.
“For what it's worth,” she started, “You seem like a decent person. And if you ever need me to hex the Weasel, I'm all for it.”
He couldn't help it. A small laugh escaped his chest, followed by a snort from Parkinson. The absurdity hit him at once. He just had a heart-to-heart with Pansy Parkinson and no one died or got cursed.
Both of them composed themselves and then opened the door to the room to be hit with potion fumes. They just walked back to the desk they were working at. The class still had an hour to go and another potion was made. Harry was on higher alert this time. Ensuring to check his surroundings, especially the corner where Ron was working.
He kept mulling over what happened in the hospital wing. The dream was real.
The dream was real.
The dream was real.
He was so in his head that he didn't notice the class ending. He didn't notice the dirty look he kept getting from the Gryffindors. He barely noticed the hand on his shoulder shaking him slightly.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Harry looked up to see Parkinson looking at him. He could hear everyone packing up but couldn't shake the grey eyes boring into the back of his head. He removed her hand once she could tell he was back in his head. The entire lesson had gone by in the literal blink of an eye.
He just mechanically stood up and began packing away his stuff. He walked out of the room and made his way to the Great Hall.
Climbing up the castle, he heard whispers. Whispers followed him everywhere. There was no escaping them.
Liar
Murderer
Freak
Those were the most common words he heard. If Harry tried to hex everyone who had said bad words about him, no one in the castle would be safe.
As he entered the hall and made his way to Gryffindor Tower, he sat next to Ginny.
The idle conversation was happening around him but he paid no mind. Ginny and Neville were talking about something that Harry couldn't put his finger on. It was calming. The background of voices soothed him. He propped his head up on his hand and sighed in contempt.
“What's that, Harry?” Ginny asked him, mentioning the rag still wrapped tightly around his hand.
“Oh, I just cut myself on a quill in potions.” He responded, trying to sound casual. His heart had logged in his throat as he remembered the broken mirror sitting at the bottom of his bag in a makeshift box.
Standing up suddenly, Harry walked in quick steps out of the hall. He knew the hall was watching him walk away but he didn't care. He needed to fix the mirror.
Taking two steps at a time up Gryffindor tower, he reached it the quickest he ever had.
He threw his bag on his bed and stuck his hand in it feeling the wood and pulling it out. He flicked the clasp to find the shards of the mirror.
It was broken into three main pieces.
He could fix it. At least he hoped he could.
Taking out his wand, Harry closed his eyes and focused on the magic within the mirror.
He could see the strands and folds of the charm. He could also see the cracks. Harry began to pour his magic into the mirror. Probably more than needed, but who could blame him?
After a couple of minutes of weaving new charms into the preexisting ones, The mirror was repaired. Harry could finally breathe through the lump in his throat, which had dissipated seeing the unmarred glass.