Pansy sat down on the opposite side of Luna and Hermione, one seat away from Harry. She figured it was okay, since Hermione didn't exactly want her there and Harry was just being polite. She looked at Harry when he spoke. Images rang through her head. Her smile was more of a grimace; her eyes glassed over. "Horrible. Though I expect you would understand that somewhat. It hasn't been very long since that day, and things have been horrible. Like they've always been." She looked away and out the doors window, since she wasn't in the window seat. "Sorry, I'm sure you really don't need to hear about my experiences. No doubt you have things you all need to still work out and through without adding my mess to it."

Hermione smiled a little at Luna. "Of course. Harry isn't going to be reading it." She handed to her friend with a small smile. She then listened to Pansy's answer to Harry's question. She sighed and looked out the window. The girl was right, of course. They all had to deal with things this summer and she knew she at least was still trying to get through some of it. Flashes went through her head again and she shook it to clear her thoughts.

Harry saw Pansy's eyes go glassy and knew he'd touched a sore spot. "Yeah," he agreed vaguely. "Things were horrible." He wasn't sure what to say to fill the silence. Pansy turned away from him and stared out the compartment door.

Smooth, Potter, he told himself. Real smooth. Great way to break the ice with someone who probably lost a lot when the Ministry cracked down on Death Eater families.

His thoughts paused midstream. Had Pansy's parents been Death Eaters? He didn't remember. But he did remember, with a jolt of anger, that Pansy had been the one to offer him up to Voldemort when the Death Eaters had attacked Hogwarts. Voldemort had demanded that they bring forth Harry Potter, and Pansy had shrieked for someone to grab him. Malice, he wondered, or cowardice?

"So," he said to the back of Pansy's head, unable to stop himself, "why did you want to hand me over to Voldemort that night, you know, during the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Ginny suddenly snapped her head up from her own copy of the Daily Prophet and elbowed Harry hard in his side. "Harry!" she stage-whispered warningly, and went right back to reading. She had never been one for reading the Daily Prophet, really; but ever since Mr. Lovegood had become editor-in-chief, she had made it a daily routine of sorts. Luna was one of her best friends, after all.

Harry suddenly jumped into her mind, as he always did unexpectedly when she was thinking of something quite different. She was looking forward to spending more time with him, now that they were in the same year. Just thinking about everything that they could do together and all the opportunities they had now that Voldemort - she wasn't as afraid of his name anymore - was finally gone, she smiled a bit. She had always taken pride in the fact that Harry didn't think of her as his best friend's kid sister anymore; but, well, as a girlfriend.

Though Harry understood why Ginny was reprimanding him, he really did want to hear Pansy's answer, now that the question was out.

"Well?" he asked Pansy again, feeling a hard, cold anger surging through him. "What made you want to hand me over to Voldemort?"

---

For now, she would just send the one owl. Her best link to the school, a student whose loyalty to the Dumbledore side had never really been questioned, but whose ties to the Death Eaters were still strong. A student whose uncertain position might make her just the right person to manipulate, to blackmail, to cajole.

She tied the letter to the owl's leg and launched it upward, out the window, into the dank grassy square which her house faced. Briefly, she looked out in disdain on the Muggles walking through the square, to their own houses, their own insignificant lives. They still didn't know this house even existed; the Fidelis charm had worn off as Dumbledore's death had dispersed it to so many, and then when the Death Eaters had nearly caught Potter, Granger, and Weasley, but the other protections were still strong.

With an angry huff, she twitched the curtains back to hide the sight of the Muggle world. Next task: a house-elf. That old bungler -- what had its name been? -- well, its head adorned the wall, just like the dozens who had come before it. She'd find a new one in Diagon Alley. It was still mid-day, so she had time.

Twitching a traveling cloak over her robes, she swept past the blackened space where the old portrait of great-aunt Walburga had once stood, before the Dark Lord's own curse had finally silenced it, past the row of house-elf heads, past the troll's leg umbrella stand, and out into Grimmauld Place.

Pansy went still, not breathing, as she turned her head back around and looked at Harry; this time making contact with his eyes. Her voice was low and quiet when she spoke but there was no intentional malice. "Do you really wish me to answer that, Potter? Do you actually want to know? Though I should think out of the seven years we've known each other, you would likely figure it out." She looked sad and worn out when she turned to look back out the compartment door window, her hazel eyes glossy and wet.

Hermione frowned, her mind racing rapidly through the recent events at Hogwarts and then years previous, of her different encounters with the girl. Then her eyes lit up like it always does when she figures something out. "It's Draco, isn't it? Something to do with him, maybe?" She looked at Harry, seeing if maybe he understand what she was talking about.

Still not looking at them, a single tear slid down Pansy's pale cheek. Her voice was barely even a whisper. "I hate you Potter, for what you did to Draco, what you made him do." She stood up, looking at the ground. Her voice was stronger this time. "If you'll excuse me, I'm not wanted here and I don't think I should stay. I'm sorry." She turned and rushed out into the corridor and ran one way, not caring that it was back the way she came. She would just stay in a lavatory if she had to.

Harry slumped in his seat at Pansy's reaction, and Hermione unexpectedly taking Pansy's side. He really didn't understand girls.

What I did to Draco? he thought. What did he do to Draco? Draco did everything to himself, deciding to take Voldemort's side, taking part in Dumbledore's murder... Dumbledore had even offered Draco help, Harry remembered, during that horrible time on the tower. Had offered to hide Draco, his mother, even his father. Draco could have switched sides then, been safe, not had to take part in the battle at all. And even then, the Malfoys had come out fine in the battle: all three were alive, which was more than he could say for Remus and Tonks. His fists clenched at the thought of their sacrifice, at their son who, like him, would never know his father or mother. At least Teddy Lupin would be raised by family who cared for him, not by Muggles who wanted nothing to do with the Wizarding world at all.

He met Hermione's eyes as Pansy rushed out of the compartment. "Draco did everything to himself," he said aloud, repeating his thoughts. "I don't understand girls," he added, slouching further in his seat and glaring up at the luggage rack.

Ron shoved a Pumpkin Pasty whole into his mouth, and with his mouth full, said to Harry, "Don't 'orry, 'Arry - I dun udderstan dum eeder."

Hermione would most likely tell him off for talking with his mouth full. In fact, he hoped she would. She was just so incredibly cute when she was furious.

Hermione smiles faintly. "I know Malfoy did it all himself. I was just looking at it from Pansy point of view. She loved the git after all, didn't she?" She turned to look at Ron, eyebrows raised. "Ronald, I expect your mother taught you not to talk with your mouth full. Boys." She humpfed and turned back to looking out the window.

Pansy finally stopped and slipped into a bathroom. She locked the door behind her and sat on the toilet, trying not to let the tears keep gushing. She missed Draco feircely and wanted him back in her life. And of course she blamed Harry for it. But she also felt terrible about what she had done to Potter. She growled through the tears. She muttered to herself. "I hate boys. I hate what they make us do." Her head was in her hands as she continued to cry.

Ron inwardly grinned, picked up another Pumpkin Pasty, and put it in his mouth. Ahh, sweet success. He loved it when she called him Ronald too.

Ginny quietly watched the exchange, and suggested hesitantly, "When you think about it, Draco didn't do everything to himself... His father was a Death Eater, after all."

Harry looked intently at Ginny, pondering her words. "Well, yes... his father was a Death Eater. And we all know Voldemort was able to terrify people into doing anything he wanted. But Dumbledore gave Draco the option to switch sides, didn't he? Right before Snape killed Dumbledore"—Harry's mouth went dry at the memory, and he swallowed before continuing—"Dumbledore tried to convince Draco to come over to the Order's side. He said he could protect Draco and his parents. And Draco didn't take the offer. He just stood there."

Harry's memories took him back, again, to that awful moment of being trapped by Dumbledore's spell, unable to help the old Headmaster. Then what Hermione had said caught up to him, and he snorted. "Pansy loved Draco? I thought she was just after his money."

Hermione gave Harry a death glare. "Just because he was rich and she was after him doesn't mean she was after his money. Even if she seems like that kind of girl. Honestly, Harry, think about it a moment. Pansy left her life to follow Malfoy to be a Death Eater. She offered up somebody elses life so make that person happy, at least, I'm sure that's what she was thinking. No, that comes from a sick type of love that has nothing to do with money. Besides, haven't you seen her eyes and what she looks like whenever that git is even mentioned. She is obviously in love with him. Oh, and as far as switching sides, Malfoys a coward, Harry. We all know that much at least."

"How come you're suddenly taking Pansy's side?" Harry asked Hermione. "I thought you hated her." He remembered their fifth year, when Pansy and Hermione had been Prefects together. "You used to call her cow, and she's been far from nice to you."

He considered Hermione's words again. Offering up someone else's life to help the person you loved... "I don't think her offering up my life to help Malfoy was a particularly nice thing to do, though. It wasn't hers to offer," he said grumpily.

But he was tired of talking about Pansy, about Malfoy, about the past. "Anyways, at least we won't run into Malfoy at school this year," he said, forcing himself to speak cheerfully. "So, Hermione, I bet the first thing you're going to do is go to the library, right?"

Hermione gave Harry a nasty little look. "No. I was actually planning on going to see how Hagrid is doing. But of course, I'm such a bookworm, I would spend all my time in the library. Maybe I'll learn something new this year while reading new books that may or may not be there. Or perhaps I'll just reread all of my school books for the third time." She turned and glared out the window.
Normally, she wouldn't have reacted like that but for some reason what he said really got on her nerves. She was having a hard enough time with the fact that she was a seventh year who was older than she should be and she was still trying to deal with what happened four months ago and beyond. She was still having nightmares and Ron never was sympathetic when she tired to explain them.

"Oh," said Harry, backpedaling a little. "Hagrid, of course. But we'll get there at night, and then we have classes. I was going to see him this weekend. Hermione," he then asked, noticing the tightness around her lips and her glare out at nothing in particular, "aren't you looking forward to going back?"

Hermione didn't even looked at him. She continued to look out at nothing. Her expression softened but only a touch. "I know when we'll get there, I just would like to see Hagrid before classes." She turned intense brown eyes on him. Her voice was quiet. "Are you really looking forward to being back, Harry? Are any of us, really?"

"Of course I'm looking forward to being back!" Harry answered. "Hogwarts is my home, Hermione, remember? I don't have any other home—not Privet Drive, not Grimmauld Place. Just Hogwarts. All of my friends are there"—he swallowed at the thought of the friends who were no longer alive—"and... well, I just really like it there. It's home," he repeated, and shrugged.

Though he would never tell her, he knew that Hermione couldn't understand this feeling. She had a home, and parents who loved her. Parents she loved fiercely, parents she'd sent out of England to protect them during the hunt for the Horcruxes. Harry had never known that: the feeling of being wanted, the feeling that the people around you didn't particularly mind having you there. It was only at Hogwarts that he'd experienced such a comfortable feeling.

But it wasn't a point he would ever want to argue with her, so he didn't bring it up.

"Why don't you want to go back?" he asked.

Ron had been watching the whole conversation between Harry and Hermione, nibbled on a Chocolate Frog, and sat in thought. Sitting in thought was definitely not an activity that Ron particularly enjoyed (and also wasn't an activity that he was particularly good at) but he had devoted to sitting in thought for quite a bit these days, especially when the battle was over and everyone's memories lingered around them.

Ron had always felt a bit sorry for Harry. The fact that, apparently, his only home was Hogwarts - that was definitely worth feeling sorry for. After all, Ron had grown up with four brothers and a sister. He definitely had some frustrating times with them, but at least he had always known that he was home. Harry had never had that sort of homey feeling, except at Hogwarts and the Burrow.

Because Ron didn't particularly want to hear the answer to Hermione's question until she had cooled down, raised her voice to a normal tone, and the glare had completely disappeared from her eyes; he cut in. "I, for one, am looking forward to Hogwarts."

((I'm going to God-mod just a *tiny* bit here and narrate some conversation and typical activities for each character; if you have *any* objections to what I have your character do, by all means let me know and I'll fix it, or you can write an interjectory post of your own.))

---

Harry turned to Ron in relief. At least someone else in the compartment had sense. "Right?" he asked. "There are all kinds of good things to look forward to -- Hagrid, the dormitories, the food, Quidditch!"

Ahh, Quidditch. He couldn't wait to get back on his broomstick. He'd have to hold tryouts, of course, and it might be as much of a disaster as they had been when he first became captain, but he could deal.

With the mention of that word, Ron was off talking, and Harry was quickly drawn into the conversation—sometimes bordering on the argumentative, but always companionable. Hermione spent the trip behind a book, while Luna read her magazine and sometimes interjected her own particular brand of comment into Harry and Ron's conversation.

Pansy, though, did not come back. Harry felt a small pang of guilt over that.

In fact, Harry didn't see Pansy at all until everyone was seated in the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, seated at the Slytherin table.

Harry was delighted to observe a Sorting Ceremony, as he'd seen so few during the years. The Sorting Hat—now quite frayed, patched, and burnt—had a new song, all about coming together to build a new peace. Harry glanced around at his fellow classmates, noticing how young all of them, even the seventh years, looked, and wondered at that. Judging by the cheering and booing as each new student was Sorted, the House Rivalries were as strong as ever. Slytherin House was still booed strongly, too, particularly by Gryffindors. Well, it had produced Voldemort.

Though, maybe it was the other way around, Harry reflected, watching "Willard, Virginia!" move to the Slytherin table. She looked such a normal eleven-year-old, no different from the other relieved faces sitting at their new House tables. Maybe, the presence of Voldemort in the Slytherin family tree, still wielding influence, had made Slytherin the way it had been. Would it change? He didn't know.

At last all the students were sorted, and Professor McGonagall rose to make a short speech about how pleased she was that Hogwarts was back in session, that she hoped we could "all put our past differences behind us," and the usual announcements about Quidditch, the Forbidden Forest, and use of magic in the corridors. Harry groaned to hear that Filch was still caretaker. He applauded politely when Dawlish was introduced at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but didn't hold out much hope in his competence.

Finally, the food appeared, and Harry attacked the platters with relish.

"What do you think of Dawlish?" he asked Ron. Hermione was on the other side of Ron, so Harry couldn't address her directly.

Ron took a long swig from his goblet of pumpkin juice, dug into his steak and kidney pie, and (this time with his mouth not full, as he didn't want to upset Hermione further) he answered dismissively, "I don't think anything of him, mate; I'm just happy about all this food." He piled pork chops onto his plate as if to emphasize his point.

"So who do you guys think is going to teach Potions this year?" Ron asked, his question directed not only to Harry, but also Hermione. "You know, since Snape is-" Ron made a slit-of-the-throat motion across his neck.

Harry looked up at the staff table at Ron's question. He'd assumed, since the Prophet hadn't mentioned any other changes to the teaching staff, that it would be Horace Slughorn, as it had been last year. But Slughorn wasn't there.

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe another new person?"

But the question was answered just then as a very rotund and beaming Horace Slughorn emerged from the antechamber behind the High Table.

"Nope," Harry corrected himself. "Slughorn again. I wonder if he'll keep on with his little Slug Club this year, too."

Harry had never really liked Slughorn, though the fat man's loyalty to Dumbledore had never been in question. Slughorn just made him feel so much like a non-person, like a thing to be put on a shelf and dusted, or a name to be trotted out to impress.

Hermione grimanced. "Slughorn? Wonderful." She looked around the table again, at the new faces and the old ones. She sighed and spoke quietly. "Do either of you feel rather out of place right now?" She knew she needed to be there to finish her education and things but she felt so old. Not that she would blame the other two if they didn't feel the same way. They would get to continue playing Quidditch of course. She looked at the Slytherin table and saw Pansy picking at her food, not really eating anything and not paying attention to the man that sat next to her, talking to her. She looked back at Ron and Harry. She smiled slightly.

Now that Hermione mentioned it, Harry could see why she felt that.

"We're a year older than the rest of the seventh years," he agreed. "And I know lots of them participated in the Battle of Hogwarts, but... Well, they still seem like kids. And we've been through so much together."

He smiled at Hermione. "But I really like being back, even so. It's... well, it's Hogwarts. And remember I always had people staring at me like I was from another planet. I kind of got used to it." That wasn't entirely true. He'd never liked the staring and gaping, and once Voldemort had returned to power, it had been even worse.

"Plus, I'm in the same year as Ginny now," Harry said, giving his girlfriend on the bench next to him a squeeze.

Hermione made a disgusted face. "I totally don't need to hear that. Or see it really." She smiled slightly then. "Did you really get used to being stared at, Harry? Because you just sounded very...arrogant just now by saying that. It was kind of funny, really."
She looked over at Ginny. "How do you feel now that Harry's in the same grade as you?" She grinned. "I imagine it would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"I didn't mean to sound arrogant!" Harry protested. "I just stopped being bothered by it, that's all. Sort of," he amended. "They weren't always staring in admiration," he said, and realized how horribly thickheaded that sounded. With a groan, he hid his head in his hands. "Why do I have to be famous?" he asked the table.

Hermione laughed. "Oh come on, Harry. I was only joking. But that did sound great, the way you said it. And you can blame Vol-Voldemort for your predicament if you want to. It would make more sense that way." She still had trouble saying the name at times, especially when her memories are laid on rather thick. But she always managed to get it out somehow. Sometimes she even could say it without hesitation, though that was only when she was in a good mood, happy and without the memories plaguing her brain with images of past events.