Where Dwell the Brave at Heart
Where Dwell the Brave at Heart
by Harikari
Summary: A story wherein Draco is re-sorted into Gryffindor, Harry has more of his famous unfortunate adventures, Ron gets angry, Hermione studies, and the entire student body thinks very carefully about where they stand when it comes to the approaching war. Harry/Draco preslash. Friendships galore. Rated M for violence and language.
Warnings: Violence, strong language, eventual mild harry/draco slash, gore, shifting points of view, strong friendships, possible hints of het relationships, AU sixth year, etc. Definite spoilers for HP books 1 through 5 and likely spoilers for elements of book 6.
Disclaimer: Don't own em'. JK Rowling and some other lucky people and companies do. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm writing this for fun, not profit.
A/N: Feedback is very, very welcome and appreciated!
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"You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart." - The Sorting Hat (SS, pg 118, US)
Chapter One: Summer's End
When the first day of September rolled around Harry Potter was both relieved and apprehensive. This was a strange mix of emotions and it caused his stomach to turn and flutter unpleasantly.
On one hand Harry was glad that school was starting again. Going off to Hogwarts for his sixth year meant seeing Ron and Hermione, meant getting away from the Dursleys, and meant being able to use magic and play Quidditch.
These were all pleasant things. These were the things that had encouraged Harry to wake up at five in the morning to shut Hedwig away in her cage and finish packing his trunk. Unfortunately, being able to fly his broom again and spending time with his two best friends weren't the only things he had to worry about. There were also reasons he didn't want to go back to Hogwarts.
For one thing, Sirius was gone now. Harry was, of course, always aware of this. While pulling weeds that had sprouted up in his Aunt Petunia's yard that summer, or trading heated words with Dudley, or lying in bed at night. He always knew it. But living with his muggle relatives had somehow dulled the pain of loss. Battling constantly with his sorry excuse of a family had allowed him to push his godfather's death to the back of his mind.
He was worried that merging once again with the magical world was going to prove too painful. He was worried that there would be too many reminders. He was worried that he would fully surrender to his grief. And he didn't want to do that. Didn't want to think about it.
But Harry could occasionally be a logical bloke, and he almost always did the right thing. He knew that the right thing in this case was to go back to Hogwarts. Because honestly, what else could he possibly do? What else could he want to do?
So he had plucked his carpet clean of stray socks with holes in the toes, unwashed jeans bundled into untidy balls, and t-shirts that were several sizes too large for him. He had stuffed all of these things into his trunk. He had moved on to clean off the small desk that sat in a corner of his room; it had been covered with thick schoolbooks, empty ink bottles, and various sorts of quills. All of these things had also been put hastily into the trunk, and now Harry was waiting for his Uncle Vernon to say it was time to go.
"Well," growled Vernon suddenly, big red face poking into the room that had once been solely for Dudley's toys. "Hurry up, boy." Harry was surprised to see his Uncle so soon (he had just finished running a comb through his impossible hair), but he shot a look at his wristwatch and realized they would have to leave now if he wanted to get to King's Cross on time to catch the train to school. He had taken longer to sort out his room and his trunk then he'd originally thought.
"Right." Harry, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, stood and quickly crossed the room. He grabbed his trunk, which was sitting against the closed closet door, and grabbed Hedwig's cage from its perch on top of the desk. "I'm ready."
Vernon merely grunted and led the way through the house and down to the drive where the car was waiting. They got into the car (Dudley was sitting in the back, taking up nearly the whole bench seat, and Harry had to squeeze in next to him) and were off.
Harry had the fleeting urge to ask why Petunia and Dudley had come along, but didn't. They were probably all going to shop for his cousin's school supplies or something equally as dull.
During the long, tense ride to the station Harry was quiet. Being taken to King's Cross by the Dursley's felt unnatural. No flying car, no magical bus, no Advance Guard coming to whisk him away...
It felt like first year all over again. Harry shifted uneasily in his seat.
When they finally reached King's Cross he hurriedly jumped out of the car and grabbed his things. He didn't watch the Dursley's pull away and disappear from sight. Instead, he concentrated on dumping his trunk and Hedwig's cage onto an available cart.
"I hate them," he mumbled while doing this, and looked back with horror at his earlier thoughts. How could he even have considered anything other than going back to Hogwarts? It was stupid. Hogwarts was his home.
Feeling as if a great weight had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders, Harry rolled his cart toward the platform where the Hogwarts Express was waiting for him.
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Platform nine and three-quarters was crowded. Harry dodged and stumbled his way around a sobbing witch who was telling her small son goodbye and a large group of third year girls who all giggled madly as he passed.
When he reached the entrance he quickly stepped up and into the train. He carefully maneuvered his way through the crowded corridor, smiling politely and muttering hellos to students he recognized. Finally, he glanced a familiar face he was willing to sit with and came to a stop in front of a compartment. He slid the door open - and stopped dead.
Neville Longbottom was in the compartment. He was sitting down with his wand held firmly in one hand and his eyes darting around nervously. He jumped when the door opened, then smiled widely when he saw Harry. But this is not what had caused the bespectacled teen to suddenly pause.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was also in the compartment. He was sitting on the seat across from Neville, already wearing one of his school robes and staring vacantly out the window and down at the people shuffling busily about the platform. He hadn't looked up when Harry had slid open the door; he still hadn't looked up.
"Neville..." Harry started, but he stopped because he didn't know just what to say. What was Neville doing sitting in a compartment with Malfoy of all people? He shot his fellow Gryffindor a questioning look.
Neville caught his look and shrugged. "He just...I was sitting here already. He just came in and sat down." The teen tried to whisper all of this to Harry, but it was doubtful that Malfoy hadn't heard any of it.
Angry, Harry turned again to look at the Slytherin. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?" he spat. He put as much venom as he possibly could into it. Because Draco Malfoy certainly shouldn't have been sitting in the same bloody compartment as Neville. Because Malfoy was an utter prat. Because everything Malfoy had done and said to Harry in fifth year was still fresh and clear in the Gryffindor's mind. All the trouble he'd caused with the Inquisitorial Squad, the 'my father will get you for landing him in Azakaban' threats - everything.
The Slytherin didn't seem startled at Harry's outburst. He didn't flinch, and didn't turn his gaze away from the window. "Sod off, Potter." His voice sounded hollow.
"No," said Harry, eyes glinting dangerously. He charged fully into the compartment, dragging his trunk and Hedwig's cage along with him. He dropped these things onto the floor with a thunk. Ignoring his snowy owl's indignant squawk he continued, determined to figure out just what the Slytherin was trying to pull. Some joke, most likely. Some sort of stupid prank. "You're the one who'd better sod off, Malfoy."
At first, this got no reaction from the teen. Seconds ticked by. Harry clenched his fists in anger. He was opening his mouth to say something more, to run the horrid blond right out of the compartment, when Malfoy spoke up. "Leave me alone," he said. "I haven't done anything to you or Longbottom."
"What?" The word came out too loud, but Harry hadn't been able to help it. Was Malfoy serious? Was he serious? "You haven't...What?" Again, much too loud. A couple of fourth year Ravenclaws who were passing the compartment stopped and gaped at the scene before them. Harry didn't care. "That's it, Malfoy. Get the hell out of here now. Right now before -"
"Harry! What's...Oh." The unexpected greeting caused the Gryffindor to jerk in surprise. He spun around and was met with the welcome sight of Hermione Granger. The girl was standing just inside the compartment, next to the door. Her eyes were wide; she was looking back and forth between the gaggle of spectators that had gathered to watch the drama unfold and Harry, who had bent close to the still unflinching Malfoy.
Harry straightened. "Hermione!"
The girl shot him a look that he couldn't quite read. "What's going on?" she asked quickly. "What's he doing in here?" Before Harry could answer she turned to drag her own trunk into the compartment. When she had both it and her fat ginger cat Crookshanks securely inside she turned and slid the compartment door closed, nearly smashing a curious Ravenclaw's nose.
Crookshanks hopped up onto the seat next to Neville and began batting playfully at the frog sitting on the Gryffindor's lap. Neville paled. "Shoo kitty," he said as Hermione wrestled her trunk into a corner, where it would be out of the way. "Shoo."
"Well?" asked Hermione. She put her hands on her hips and glared in what Harry felt was a very intimidating way. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
Harry cut in before the Slytherin could answer - that is, if the blond had in fact been planning to answer. "He was just leaving," he said. "Weren't you?" He turned again to look at the blond.
Malfoy opted not to answer, or even to turn around to look at the other occupants of the compartment. This uncharacteristic silence, Harry had to privately admit, was giving him the creeps.
He saw the strange expressions both Hermione and Neville were sporting and realized they must be feeling the same way.
"Listen, Malfoy. I don't know what the hell you're trying to pull or what the hell is wrong with you, and I don't care." He made sure to enunciate that last part. He went forward, the anger that had receded with Hermione's arrival rising up again and running like electricity through his nerves. He leaned in, closer to the blond, and reached for an arm...
Before he could grab it the door slid open again. "Draco!" a feminine voice squealed. "I was looking for you!"
It was Pansy Parkinson. She had, apparently, spotted Draco through the compartment door's small square window and was now staring at all of the Gryffindors accusingly. "What are you doing with Potter and the Mudblood?" she asked.
Hermione shot her a dark look and seemed ready to punch the Slytherin girl. Harry glared - and his glare really wasn't working very well today, was it? Pansy completely ignored it and Malfoy still hadn't turned away from the stupid window.
"Draco?" Pansy tried again. She opened the door wider and made as if to step inside; she saw Hermione's face and the back of Malfoy's still-turned head and seemed to reconsider. "Draco? What are you doing? We've all found a place to sit. It's near the back of the train. Come on."
Harry noticed, for the first time, that Pansy was not alone. Behind her, crowding the corridor with his bulk, was Blaise Zabini. Zabini was a tall, handsome black wizard from the Slytherin house. Harry didn't know much about him - he'd seen the teen occasionally roaming the school halls with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.
He noticed that Zabini's dark eyes were fixed firmly on the blond Slytherin.
"Get out," Malfoy said suddenly - finally - and everyone turned to look at him, surprised.
"No!" Neville shouted this. He'd been sitting in the same spot, holding his frog, Trevor, over his head and out of reach of Crookshanks' claws. "We're not-" Harry had a moment to be proud of Neville's sudden bravery before the boy was cut off.
"Not you," drawled the Slytherin. "Pansy, you get out."
There was a moment of dead silence.
And then, "What's the matter, Malfoy? Bad summer?" It was Blaise.
Very slowly, Malfoy turned away from the window.
Harry had to make a conscious effort not to gasp. Hermione and Pansy didn't bother to make an effort - they both let out little exhalations of what sounded like distress at the Slytherin's appearance.
"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, before anyone else could speak.
The Slytherin ignored her. He had turned to face Blaise. "Go to hell," the blond said. It took a long moment for Harry to actually absorb the fact that Malfoy was saying this to someone other than him. To a Slytherin.
He wondered why. Was it just because Malfoy thought Zabini was trying to be smart? Harry thought that was a bit harsh. Then again, Malfoy's father had been put into Azkaban near the end of fifth year. And Malfoy looked...bad. Maybe Blaise knew exactly what sort of a summer Malfoy had had.
Zabini seemed less than pleased with Malfoy's reply. In fact, he seemed livid. "Now listen here, Draco." His voice was a low, threatening rumble. "You may be able to speak like that to those scummy prats Crabbe and Goyle. But you sure as hell can't speak like that to me."
Malfoy rolled his eyes - Harry was glad for this glimpse of familiarity in the blond. He was acting so...different. It was unsettling.
"Fuck off, Blaise," spat Malfoy.
Zabini practically exploded. "You little shite!"
Pansy tried to break in. "Please," she said. "Please you two let's..." But the Slytherins weren't listening to her.
"What's you're problem, Draco? Huh? Did you miss your daddy this summer or something? Or is this about your mum? She in a bad mood because good ol' Lucius is gone? What happened? Did she go nutters again and lock you in-" Harry had no time to wonder where Malfoy's mother had locked him; had no time to wonder about anything Blaise had said. Because in a sudden rush Draco jumped out of his seat, shoved Harry and Hermione out of the way, and punched Blaise Zabini square in the nose.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Blaise shouted, clutching at his nose with a big hand.
And the fight was on.
Before Harry could truly comprehend what was happening Zabini had grabbed two fistfuls of Malfoy's robe and was pulling the blond out into the corridor. Pansy made a sound not unlike a pig squealing and hopped out of the way. "Stop it!" she tried from her new spot next to Hermione. "Stop it!" It was no use.
Malfoy, who seemed to have regained enough common sense to realize that Blaise would murder him in a fair fight, was pulling at the hands gripping his robe and aiming hard little kicks at his opponent's shins. "Let me go!" he was pleading. "Let me go Zabini or-"
"Or what? Your father can't protect you anymore, Draco." The tall Slytherin pulled back one large hand and rolled it into a fist. He landed the blow in Malfoy's stomach. The blond's breath left him in a woosh of air. Then he faltered; his legs turned to jelly underneath him. But Zabini held the smaller teen up with one clenched fist and pulled back to aim again...
The train suddenly jolted to a start. Both of the Slytherins lost their balance. Blaise went stumbling backward before catching himself; both of his hands gripped the edges of a nearby compartment's door frame. Malfoy fell over and landed on his backside in the corridor.
Harry stepped forward to get a closer look. Blaise was breathing hard, looking at his housemate with murder in his eyes. He reached into the depths of his robe and pulled out his wand a second later. He was opening his mouth to say something when a door a few compartments down slid open.
"Hey," someone said.
Everyone turned to look and Harry saw that it was a seventh year Huffelpuff girl he didn't know the name of. Her Head Girl badge gleamed from where it was pinned to her robe. "What's going on there? All of you should be in your seats." She took a step out into the corridor and glared at the scene before her.
The blood from Blaise's injured nose had streamed down the tall Slytherin's face and was dripping from his chin to the carpeted walkway; some of it had even managed to get on Malfoy. Smeared, bright red finger stains stood out starkly on one pale cheek. The blond was still on the floor, looking ruffled and angry.
The Hufflepuff girl took another step closer. "What's going on?" she asked, this time with more interest.
"Nothing!" This from Pansy. The pug-faced girl came stumbling out of the compartment, a fake grin on her face. "Nothing! We were just going to sit down." She shot Malfoy a nervous look before marching straight over to Blaise and taking his arm. "Let's go."
The tall Slytherin shot one last withering look at his blond counterpart before turning and walking away, Pansy at his side.
"Are you sure?" asked the Head Girl, before the two had completely disappeared from view. She had spotted Harry in the doorway and was looking to him for an honest answer. "Nothing's-"
Abruptly and without thought Harry reached down and pulled the dazed Malfoy up off the floor. He shoved the Slytherin back into a startled Hermione and half-smiled at the seventh year. "Everything's fine," he said. The girl still didn't look convinced. "We'll all sit down now."
He slid the door closed before she had a chance to answer.
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Chapter Two