Chapter Text
The first night at the 8th year boys' dormitory was a mess. Not everyone had come back to finish their studies, for one reason or other, but over half of them had, and that meant a lot more people in one dormitory than they had previously gotten used to. Now all the Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were trying to claim their beds, each clique wanting to find their own little corner – the beds near the fireplace at the far end of the dorm were the most sought after, and the ones by the big, drafty windows curiously being the last ones to be picked.
There was a moment of peace and quiet once the beds have been claimed for the coming nine months. The boys opened their trunks, decorated their bedside tables with pictures of family or books, or whatever they fancied. Harry saw Ron put up a framed picture of his family, from the trip they all had taken to Egypt that one summer, and next to that Ron also put a much newer picture of him and Hermione kissing. The Slytherin boys were doing spells on the big windows; surprisingly Draco Malfoy had been the first one to roll his eyes and settle for a bed that had curtains slightly swaying because of the draft. Goyle had followed suit immediately, and after a while so had Zabini, even though with a sour look on his face.
Harry sat on his bed and stretched. He thought of changing into his pyjamas straight away and snuggling under the covers, the train ride and the welcome ceremony had both been long and tiresome. Being back at Hogwarts was feeling weird, and he wasn't all that sure it was a positive weird, but he had no energy to dive into that. He would have time to figure out what to feel later.
As soon as his head hit the familiar, feather filled pillow, he was out.
*
The next morning Harry woke up to Neville's alarm clock ringing. As he grumbled and regained consciousness, he started noticing other sounds around the dorm as well. He put his glasses on, peeked from behind the curtains to find another kind of chaos.
Some of the boys were up already, some only just waking up, and some still snoring blissfully. Apparently there was a queue forming to the bathroom. Zabini was standing in front of a tall mirror, looking fresh and tying his tie – purple and copper, the colours chosen for the 8th years. A cup of coffee was floating in the air next to him, steaming and spreading a delicious smell around the dorm. Harry groaned. He had taken up drinking coffee during the summer, and the smell from Zabini's cup was making him crave some. He pulled his curtains open and sat up.
”Ron, time to wake up”, he said with a rough voice and kicked his friend's bed. Ron answered him with a groan of his own.
Harry rubbed his eyes and took a closer look to the queue in front of the bathroom doorway. There had been several stalls in the bathroom, as well as several showers, but there also were twelve of them who all wanted to start the new school year fresh and clean. As Harry pondered his options, maybe he could fit in a quick shower after the breakfast, another figure appeared at the end of the queue. Harry couldn't help an amused smile rising to his face.
He and Malfoy had known each other for seven years now, and had seen each other in many different situations, especially during the past year or two, but this was a sight Harry had never anticipated seeing. Malfoy was standing behind Anthony Goldstein, holding a towel in his arms. His usually so flawlessly combed and styled platinum blond hair was pointing straight up on one side of his head. His eyelids were slightly puffy, and there was a large red mark on one of his cheeks that had apparently been pressed against the pillow. But nevermind his face, what was the strangest to Harry, was his clothing: he was wearing a long, white, very grandmotherly nightdress with ruffles at the sleeves and big woolly slippers on his feet. Harry tried not to stare, he tried not to smile, but he couldn't help himself. Who knew sharing a dormitory would show him such new sides of people he had thought he'd known for several years already?
Malfoy must have sensed he was being looked at, and it didn't take long for his and Harry's eyes to meet. Malfoy raised one pale eyebrow.
”Something funny?” he asked with a groggy voice.
”No”, Harry said quickly and started looking for his socks.
”Good. But I'll have you know”, Malfoy continued nevertheless, ”that this nightgown is of traditional wizarding fashion, and is made of authentic, finest Chinese silk.”
”Yeah, I – I do not doubt that”, Harry nodded, and honestly, he didn't. Of course Malfoy would have only the best of the best and the most traditional. But it still looked very grandmotherly to Harry. He was sure Aunt Petunia had something similar, only with floral patter.
”Looks comfy”, he added for the sake of trying to not appear rude. Mending fences, and all.
”It is, very much so. I don't like feeling restricted while I'm in bed.”
”Oi, Draco”, Zabini stepped in with a grin. ”Too much information. Not everyone wants to hear about your vanilla preferences.”
”Oh fuck off, Blaise”, Malfoy snorted and took a step forward as the queue moved. Zabini grinned still, took a sip from his cup, and then levitated it towards Malfoy. He took it and drank it empty without even as much as a thank you, but Zabini didn't seem to mind.
The silent exchange between them surprised Harry as much as the nightgown had. Of course he had known them to be friends, obviously, but actually seeing them do stuff that friends do, have a friendly banter like he and Ron would have, was mildly baffling but also refreshing. If someone had told him a year and a half ago that the Slytherins too had the ability of being friends in them he would have laughed and told the person to stop being delusional, but now it felt good and warm and actually quite obvious. If the war had taught him anything it was that the world and its people weren't all black and white, and he had a feeling that the next nine months spend with people who weren't his closest family would emphasize that even further.
The weird feeling inside his gut that was still there, it had been from the moment he had seen the repaired castle. But the feeling had now taken a tiny turn towards positive weirdness.
Now, if only he had some coffee.