Remember when I loved you-drarry story

Chapter 1

Honestly, Ron, if you'd actually listened to Professor Slughorn, you'd have never made this mistake."

"I did listen, alright? I just made one single error in the whole essay, Hermione, come on," Ron protested weakly. "I already knew unicorn blood is never used in potion-making, so I thought maybe the feathers —"

"Feathers? Really?" muttered Hermione indignantly, looking over Ron's Potions essay on the properties and uses of unicorn horn. "Unicorns don't have feathers, you idiot."

"Hairs!" snapped Ron sulkily. "I meant hairs, damn it!"

Harry let out a long, weary groan, resisting the urge to yell at them. His mind was oddly numb, and something — something inexplicable and strange — kept tugging at the corners of his heart. Quietly and absently, he circled the rim of his silver goblet with his forefinger, his eyes staring vacantly at the uneaten food on his plate. A while earlier, he'd taken a single swig of his pumpkin juice, but it had felt utterly tasteless, and he'd quickly abandoned the rest of his delicious-looking lunch. Nothing really felt appealing for some reason.

A long and excruciating week had gone by since everyone had returned to Hogwarts for eighth year, and Hermione and Ron had already effortlessly adjusted themselves to their new positions at Hogwarts, blending in quite perfectly with the rest of the students. They seemed to be faring quite well so far, unlike him.

Several different things had changed at Hogwarts after the war, and eighth year students, especially those who had fought in the war, were regarded in very high esteem. They were greatly revered and goggled at everywhere they went, and the younger students often excitedly flocked around them to talk. It was becoming quite a normal sight to see. Harry, for once, was grateful to not be the only one being gawked at like he was a monkey in a zoo.

Even the teachers were more lenient, and they often forgave most minor transgressions with a smile and a wink. Although Harry wasn't sure how he felt about people fawning over him and worshipping every strip of land he stepped on, it was nothing new, and at least he had managed to get something out of it. He now had his own personal room, which he was extremely grateful for.

The Gryffindor tower had been generously remodelled to accommodate the eighth year students, and most of them had received a separate room. Harry's room, although he severely disliked admitting it, was particularly grand and luxurious, attached with a clean toilet and a lovely, spacious bath. In spite of everything, he was glad to have his own space. Being assigned less homework made him feel relaxed and comfortable, and being able to skip classes every once in a while felt nice and cool.

Yet, there was something amiss.

Sighing softly, Harry shakily grabbed his goblet and downed the rest of his pumpkin juice, even though it tasted utterly bland. Ron and Hermione were still bickering incessantly beside him, but Harry barely registered their voices. He felt almost lost and empty as he sat there, surrounded by the usual mindless chattering, the clattering of spoons and plates, and the hushed whispers which relentlessly followed him wherever he went. Nothing much had changed for him, after all. Things were mostly the same, although much better now that Voldemort was gone forever.

Everything should've been okay. He knew he should've been feeling great and happy, but something was still missing, something that felt like it was important. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, though, no matter how hard he tried.

Slowly, inevitably, his curious gaze drifted towards the Slytherin table, scanning it thoroughly from one end to the other, hoping desperately to see a familiar pointy face.

Unsurprisingly, quite a few students had returned for eighth year, and Headmistress McGonagall had meticulously ordered for a new, smaller table to be placed below the High Table. However, that table mostly lay unoccupied and deserted, except for a few outcasts who lounged around, looking bitter and angry. Most of the students who had returned still very much preferred their previous house tables. Though Harry had heard from Hermione that there were plans to abolish the houses, he knew it was easier said than done. Despite Professor McGonagall's efforts to curb house enmity, hatred towards Slytherin students was at an all-time high.