After the Sorting Ceremony, the first-year Slytherins followed the prefects toward the common room.
The stone corridors were cool and echoing, the warm glow of wall sconces stretching shadows across the floor.
Antoine Avery walked at the front, the hem of his black robes brushing the ground. His voice was calm and even:
"The common room is underground. The password changes weekly. This week's is 'powdered asphodel'. Remember it."
Gemma followed behind, occasionally reminding the group:
"Don't touch the suits of armor in the corridor. Last year a first-year bumped one and got punished with a week of polishing silverware."
Harry walked beside Draco, hands in his robe pockets, fingertips brushing the smooth edge of the two-way mirror.
They passed through a hidden doorway in the stone wall, and the common room unfolded before them—
a domed ceiling tinted deep green, star maps glowing faintly on the walls, a huge fireplace crackling with orange flames.
A few upper-year students lounged on sofas, glancing up to appraise the new arrivals.
"First-years, follow me to your dormitories," Avery said, stopping by a staircase.
"Slytherin first-years share double rooms. Assignments were made beforehand. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy share the one at the very end."
Harry and Draco exchanged a glance—neither spoke.
The dormitory door was oak, carved with small serpentine patterns. Avery unlocked it and added:
"There's hot water inside. No noise after ten. Be in the Great Hall for breakfast at seven sharp."
When the door closed behind them, Harry exhaled and walked to the window—
the view opened directly onto the Black Lake, water shifting with dark iridescence. Occasionally a shadow of a fish flickered by.
"Better than I expected," he said, turning to see Draco setting his trunk on the bed closest to the inner wall. "I thought we might be split up."
"The Malfoys spoke to the school," Draco said, bending to sort his belongings. His pale blond hair slipped forward, covering part of his forehead.
"I hate sharing a room with strangers. Too troublesome."
He pulled out a neatly arranged silver stationery set and placed it on his desk. Then he looked over his shoulder.
"You want the bed by the window?"
"Mm."
Harry tossed his canvas bag onto the bed, unzipped it, and a cascade of textbooks spilled out. A History of Magic landed atop his Potions text, the cover bent at the corner.
"Did you see the way Avery looked at me in the common room? Like I'm some rare creature."
Draco came over, bent down, and gathered the fallen textbooks, sorting them by subject on Harry's desk with practiced ease—as if he'd done it a hundred times.
"Well, you are the 'Savior' who ended up in Slytherin," Draco said. "Everyone assumed you'd be a Gryffindor—if things had gone normally, you would've been. Ignore him, though. Avery's family does business with mine. He's harmless. Just talks too much."
"Talking too much's better than scheming too much," Harry muttered, picking at the pattern on the bedspread. "I really don't want attention right now…"
Draco paused for a heartbeat, placed the last book—Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration—on the desk, and sat in the chair beside Harry.
"Relax. Slytherins understand the rule of 'mind your own business.' No one will dig into why you were Sorted here."
He tilted his head slightly. "The real issue is Potions tomorrow. Have you thought about that?"
Harry's face collapsed instantly. He slumped against the headboard with a groan.
"Oh, Merlin. What can I do? Leave it to fate? My Potions grades sucked before. Even with a second life, I'm not suddenly a Potions prodigy. Snape's going to shred me. I'll be the first Slytherin to start the term at the bottom of the year."
"You won't be at the bottom," Draco snorted. He pulled a quill from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers.
"I'll tutor you. We can practice in the evenings. I remember Potions theory perfectly, and I'm good at the practicals. It's enough for both of us."
Harry looked up at him, feeling oddly awkward.
"You don't have to… I mean, you're busy too—"
"What's the trouble?" Draco cut him off. The quill stilled between his fingers.
"We share a dorm. We'll be here anyway. Besides, if your Potions is too awful, he'll keep targeting you. You want that?"
Harry froze.
That hit the mark exactly.
He did not want Snape circling him constantly like a hawk. His Potions grades had been notoriously mediocre—barely passable.
"…Okay," he said finally. He picked up the Potions text and flipped to the first page, covered in ingredient tables. "Then… tomorrow night, we start?"
"Mm."
Draco stood, walked to his desk, and took out a sheet of parchment.
"I'll draft a study plan. I'll mark the key ingredients and steps. You memorize the theory first; we'll do practicals slowly."
Harry watched him write—head bowed, blond hair soft under the lamplight.
The scratch of quill on parchment blended with the sound of water lapping at the Black Lake outside.
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt calm.
He picked up the two-way mirror, traced its edges. His reflection stared back—no tension in his eyes for once.
"By the way," Draco said suddenly, looking up,
"Avery told me Quidditch tryouts are next week. Do you want to join? If you do, I can get you in even as a first-year."
Harry blinked. Then shook his head.
"No. I don't want to. You? Weren't you going to be Seeker?"
"Not anymore," Draco said, resuming his writing. His tone was flat. "I'm not interested."
Harry slipped the mirror back into his pocket.
"Hey—then why'd you want to be Seeker in the first place?"
"…To compete with you?" Draco finished writing, handed the parchment to Harry. "Sort out Potions first."
Harry took it. The handwriting was precise, the key points marked in green ink—even details like "asphodel powder and wormwood must not be mismatched".
He laughed softly and tucked the parchment into his book.
"To compete with me. Great reason. Noted, Professor Malfoy."
Draco raised an eyebrow, came over, and tapped the book cover.
"Enough chatter. I'll wake you at seven. Don't oversleep."
"I don't oversleep," Harry protested. "I'm punctual."
"Sure, whatever you say," Draco called as he headed to wash up.
"Sleep early. Potions is first period tomorrow—don't be late."
"Yeah," Harry answered, packing away his books.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the patterned ceiling. Outside, the Black Lake was still.
Only the sound of running water from Draco's side filled the quiet dormitory.
He touched the two-way mirror in his pocket.
Memories of hellish darkness and blood in the Forbidden Forest flickered through his mind.
And suddenly—he felt grateful.
This time, he wasn't facing it all alone.
This time, he wouldn't fall asleep wondering if he'd survive till morning—
because someone would wake him, help him, watch his back…
"Harry," Draco's voice came as he stepped out, towel over his hair. "Lights off?"
"Go ahead," Harry replied.
Draco crossed to the wall and flicked the switch.
Darkness settled instantly—only moonlight from the Black Lake painted faint silver on their beds.
"Goodnight," Draco said softly from across the room.
Harry smiled into the dark and closed his eyes.
"Goodnight, Draco."